


V 






^°-v 









• • 



ORIGINIL REVOLUTIONARY CHRONICLE. 



THE 



ATTLE-BAT 



OF 



aERMANTOWN. 



BY GEORGE LIPPARD, ESQ. 

AUTHOR OF *' HERBERT TRACY, OR THE ROMANCE OF THE BATTLE OF GERJIANTOWN ; " RANDULPH 

THE PRINCE, OR THE ROMANCE OF BRANDYWINE ; " AND OTHER 

NOVELS OF THE REVOLUTION. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

A. H. DILLER, NO. 3 NORTH SIXTH STREET. 



f-* 



^f 



TO IHE REy\DER. 



In order that those who have not perilled the writings of Gkorge Lippard, may form an idea of 
<J.he estimation which the public place on his productions, we lay before the rcade-r the following 

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 



From the Coshocton (Ohio) Democrat. 
"The Battle Day of BuaxdywIxXE. — We copy 
in to-day's paper this excellent production of 
<jEorge Lippard, Esa. The style is chaste and 
forcible, and cannot fail to enchain the attention 
of the reader. The subject is one in which every 
American must take a deep interest, as it is one 
of the most eventful scenes of the struggle for 
American independence. We have just read an- 
other 'story' from the pen of Mr. Lippard, called 
''Adrian, the Neophyte,' which, in our judgment, 
surpasses any of his previous productions that we 
Jiave read. Mr. Lippard, we believe, is a young 
writer, and we have no doubt that his name will 
•in a few years be classed with the first literary 
writers of the country." 



" We copy the thrilling and deeply interesting 
."{listorical sketch, the 'Battle- Day of Brandywine.' '» 
The Democrat^ New Philad.^ O. 



Godey's Lady's Book, the magazine of the land, 
iiolds this language : 

'•'■'■ Adrian, the Neophyte. By George Lippard,' 
This is a short sketch, or rather skeleton of a 
story, exhibiting the fierce struggles of a passion- 
■ate nature, first aroused to the temptations of the 
world. The sketch is written with much skill, 
and is effective in showing the conflict of the 
heaven-aspiring but superstitious soul, when drawn 
<3own from its fancied high sanctity by the heart- 
engrossing influence of human love. These de- 
scriptions of the pen have a vividness which seems 
caught from the pictorings of the pencil." 



pen of George Lippard, Esq., which, in point of 
originality and interest, equals, if not surpasses, 
some of the most noted productions of the day." 



"The Battle- Day of Germantown adds an- 
other leaf to the laurels already gathered by the 
talented author." — New York Argii&, 



The Battle-Day of Germaxtowx. — One of 
the most interesting historical tales wc ever had 
the pleasure to peruse. — Odd Fellow, Md. 



*' A highly interesting story, from the pen of 
George Lippard, Esq., entitled the ' Battle-Day 
«f Germantown.' " 

Democratic Press, York, Pa. 



Speaking of this chronicle of" The Battle- Day 
of Germantown," the Reading Press observes : 
" An excellent Revolutionary story, from the 



The Philadelphia Inquirer, edited by Robert 
Morris, Esq., says of " Adrian, the Neophyte j" 

" We have received a story of the soul, (for such 
truly we may term it,) with the above tjtle. It is 
from the pen of George Lippard, The conception 
is somewhat of the Zanoni school, and will not 
fail to inspire the reader with <3eep interest. Many 
of the thoughts and sentiments are expressed in 
powerful, feeling, aKd eloquent language ; and on 
the whole, the romance is striking and grand. 
'A mysterie is the soul.' " 



The Philadelphia Evening Mercury, (edited by 
L. A. Wilmer, Esq.,) among other notices, has the 
following concerning the abilities of George Lip- 
pard : 

" We entertain the belief that the author has the 
stamina which may make him a distinguished 
writer of fiction. He has a fervor of imagination 
and a strength of expression which we rarely see 
equalled, and these qualities appear to be conspicu- 
ously shown in the 'Neophyte.' " 



The organ of the L O. O. F., the "Symbol," 
published in Boston, says : 

"A highly interesting historical tale, called the 
'Battle-Day of Brandywine,' by George Lippard, 
Esq. It is one of the most thrilling and intereat- 
ing we ever read." 

f 



TO THE READER. 



And again : 

^''■Adrian, the NeophyteJ' — We have read the 
first part, and can truly say it will compare in 
every respect with any story — prize or otherwise — 
that has been published for the last twelve months 
in cither of the popular magazines of the day." 



The New York Cynosure, edited by M. Hardin 
Andrews, Esq,, after endorsing the sentiments of 
the Philadelphia Inquirer, says ; 

" We know that his (Mr. Lippard's) talents are 
of an original and exalted kind. His tales which 
have been published in the Saturday Evening 
Post and other papers, ('Herbert Tracey,' for in- 
stance,) have been received with great fervor 
wherever they have been read." 



Lewis C. Levin, Esq., editor of the " Daily 
Sun," and well known as the gifted orator and 
advocate of the cause of Temperance, pays George 
Lippard this tribute : 

" The Battle-Day of Germantown. — It is 
written with great power, and stamps the author 
a man of genius J*^ 



" An original tale from the pen of George Lip- 
PARD, Esq., entitled 'The Battle-Day of German- 
town,' for minuteness of detail and beauty of dic- 
tion is worthy of the author. The graphic de- 
scription of 'The Battle Eve' thrills the soul of the 
American reader while he depicts to his mind's 
eye the perilous and destitute condition of the 
continental army." — Butler (Pa.) Democrat, 



\ 




THE OLD STATE-HOUSE, PHH.ADELPHIA, 

As it stood at the time of the enlry of the British into Philadelphia— September 26, 1777. 




CHEW'S HOUSE, GERMANTOWN. 

This engraving of the venerable mansion may be relied on for the most exact correc'.ncss of detail. 



•i« 



ORIGINAL REVOLUTIONARY CHRONICLE. 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 



BY GEORGE LIPPAUD, ESQ., 

AUTHOR OF " HERBERT TRACY, A ROMANCE OF THE BATTLE-FIELD OF GERMANTOWN," 
" RANDULPH THE PRIXCE, OR THE ROMANCE OF THE 
BATTLE OF BRANDYWINE, ETC., ETC. 



PHILADELPHIA : 

A. H. DILLER, PUBLISHER. 



1843 

<1 o -io t4 



£24-1 



[COPYRIGHT SECURED ACCORDING TO LAW.] 



Note.— The correct and cftectivo Engravings accompanying this chronicle,' are copied, by permission of the 
gifted author, from the forthcoming second edition of " Watson's Annals.'' 



n 



TO 

JOHN F. WATSON, Esq., 

Or Germantown, 

The Antiquary of Revolutionary lore — the gentleman of the old school, and the accomplished scholar, 
this Chronicle of the Battle-Day of Gerraantown, is respectfully inscribed by 

THE AUTHOR. 



A WORD TO THE READER. 

This Chronicle is presented to your perusal as a tiue and correct history of the Battle of German- 
town, containing all the facts to be gleaned from history, combined with the legendary incidents of the 
day of battle, narrated by the survivors of the times of the Revolution. Wherever the author has found 
a tradition, he has applied it to bis purpose ; wherever he has discovered an old-time legend, he has 
written it down, and now he presents this book of the Battle-Day of Germantown to the public, with 
the intention of preserving the memory of its wild and romantic incidents in some tangible form, and 
of saving its history from that oblivion of the grave which will soon envelope the survivors of the Re- 
volution. 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 



BY TrEOBGE LIPPARD, ESa. 



"And when servile Fraud stalks through the land, and Genius starves in his cell, while upstart 
Imbecility rides abroad in chariots : when man is degenerate, pubhc faith is broken, public honor 
violated, tiien will we wander forth into the awful shadows of the Past, and from the skeletons of the 
battle-tield evoke the spirits of that giant time, calling upon their forms ot unreal majesty for the mighty 
secret which made them the man-gods of that era of high deeds and glorious purposes, the Ghostly 
Past. From the Abbe De La Menncm, 



THE BATTLE EVE. 



The Red Cross in Pliiladclpliia. 

It was a sad day for Philadelphia, a sad day for 
the nation, when the pomp of British banners and 
the gleam of British arms was in her streets and 
along her avenues; when, as far as eye could 
reach, was seen the long array of glaring red coats, 
with the sunbeams of a clear September day fall- 
ing on helm and cuirass, shining like burnished 
gold. 

It was a sad and gloomy day for the nation, 
when the Congi ess was forced to flee the old pro- 
vincial town of William Fenn, when the tories pa- 
raded the streets with loud hurrahs, with the Brit- 
ish lion waving overhead, while the whigs hung 
their heads in shame and in despair. 

True, the day was calm and bright overhead ; 
true, the sky was clear, and the nipping air of au- 
tumn gave freshness to the mind and bloom to the 
cheek ; true it was, the city was all alive with the 
glitter of processions, and the passing to and fro 
of vast crowds of people ; but the processions were 
a dishonor to our soil, the crowds hurried to and 
fro to gaze upon the living monuments of the de- 
feat of Brandy wine — the armed and arrogant Brit- 
ishers filling the streets of Philadelphia. 

They came marching along in front of the old 
Stale House, on their way to their barracks in the 
Northern Liberties. The scene was full of strange 
and startling interest. The roofs of the State 
House arose clearly in the autumn air each peak 
and cornice, each gable-end and corner, shown in 
fall and distinct outline, with the trees of Indepen- 
dence Square towering greenly in the rear of tiio 
fabric, while up into the clear sky arose the Statu 
House ctccplc, will* ito ooienm bell ui indcptn- 
A 



dence, that but a year ago sent foKh the new* of 
liberty to all the land, swinging a welcome to the 
British host — a welcome that sounded like the 
funeral knell of new world freedom. 

The British in. Chesniit Street. 

The columns of the army were passing in front 
of Independence Hall. Along Chesnut street, as 
far as the eye could see, shone the glittering array 
of sword and bayonet, with the bright sunshine 
falling over the stout forms of the British troopers, 
mounted on gallant war steeds, and blazing with 
burnished cuirass and jpolished helm, while ban- 
ner and pennon waved gaily overhead ; and there, 
treading the streets in all the flush of victory, were 
the regiments of British infantry, with the one 
bold front of their crimson attire flashing in the 
light, with their bayonets rising overhead like a 
forest ot steel, and with tnarks of Brandywinc 
written on many a whiskered face and burly 
chest. 

And at their head, mounted on a gallant steed, 
with the lordlings of his staff" around him, rode a 
tall and athletic man, with a frame of sinew, and 
a calm, placid face, wearing an even smile and 
quiet look, seen from beneath the shadow of his 
plain chapeau, while his gaudy attire of crimson, 
with epaulettes of gold on cither shoulder, an- 
nounced Sir William Howe, * commander-in-chief 
of the invading army. 

And as the General glanced around, fiAing his 
eye proudly upon the British banner, waving from 



* Some accounts state that Sir William Howe 
took ])ossession of Philadelphia in person, while 
others state that Lord rornwallis entered the city 
with four regiments of grenadiers. 



THE BATTLE DAY OF OERMANTOWJV. 



the State House steeple, as his glance was met by 
the windows of Independence Hall, decorated by 
the flags of the Britisher, a proud gleam lit up his 

calm blue eye ; and with tlie thought of Brandy- 
wine, came a vision of the future, speaking elo- 
quently of provinces subjugated, rebels overthrown 
and liberties crushed. 

And then 'peals of music, uttered by an hundred 
bands, filled the street, and startled the silence of 
the State House avenues, swelling up to the heav- 
ens with notes of joy the roll of drum, the shriek 
of bugle, and the clash of cymbal mingling in 
grand chorus; while the banners waved more 
proudly overhead, the spears, the bayonets, and 
helmets shone brighter in the light, and between 
the peals of music the loud huzzas of the crowd 
blackening the sidewalks, looking from the win- 
dows, and clinging to the trees, broke gladly upon 
the air, as the solemn notes of independence bell 
heralded, with an iron tongue, the entrance of the 
invaders into the city; the possession of Philadel- 
phia by the British. 

It was a grand sight to see — the windows 
crowded with the forms of beauty, waving scarfs 
ui the air, ngcd matrons lifting little children on 
high, who clapped their hands with glee, as they 
beheld the glimmer of arms and the glitter of 
steel, the streets below all crimson with British 
uniform, all music and all joy, the side walks black- 
ened by crowdi of servile tories, who shouted till 
their loyal throats were tired "Long life to King 
George — confusion to Washington, and death to 
the rebels I" 

They trooped through the streets of Philadelphia 
on that 26th of September, 1777; just fifteen days af- 
ter the battle-day of Brandy wine, they took posses- 
sion with all the pomp of victory; and as the shades 
of twilight sank down over the town, they marched 
proudly into their barracks, in the Northern Li- 
berties. 

The Path of tlic Rchel Ciiief. 

And where was Washington ? 

Retreating from the forces of Sir William Howe, 
along the Scliuylkill; retreating with brave men 
under his command, men who had dared death in 
a thousand shapes, and crimsoned their hands with 
the carnage of Brandy wine; retreating because his 
powder and ammunition were exhausted; because 
his soldiers wanted the necessary apparel, while 
their hands grasped muskets without lock or flint. 

The man of the American army retreated, but 
hi3 soul was firm. The American Congress had 



deserted Philadelphia, but Washington did not 
despair. The British occupied the surrounding 
country, their arms shone on every hill; their ban- 
ners toyed in every breeze; yet had George Wash- 
ington resolved to strike another blow for the free- 
dom of this fair land. 

A Qiiiet and Lovely liantl* 

The calm sunlight of an autumnal afternoon was 
failing over the quiet valleys, the green plains, and 
the rich and rolling woodland of an undulating 
tract of country, spreading from the broad bosom 
of the Delaware to the hilly shores of the Schuyl- 
kill, about seven miles from Philadelphia. 

The roofs of an ancient village, extending in one 
unbroken line along the great northern road, arose 
grey and massive in the sunlight, as each corniced 
gable and substantial chimney looked forth from 
the shelter of the surrounding trees. There was 
an air of quaint and rustic beauty about this vil- 
lage. Its plan was plain and simple, burdened 
with no intricate crossings of streets, no labyrinth- 
ine pathways, no complicated arrangement of 
houses. The fabrics of the village were all situa- 
ted on the line of the great northern road, reaching 
from the fifth mile stone to the eighth, while a line 
of smaller villages extended this "Indian file of 
houses " to the tenth milestone from the city. 

The houses were all stamped with marks of tha 
German origin of their tenants. The high, sloping 
roof, the walls of dark grey stone, the porch be- 
fore the door, and the garden in the rear, bloom- 
ing with all the freshnessof careful culture, mark- 
ed the tenements of the village, while the heavy 
gable-ends and the massive cornices of each roof, 
gave each house an appearance of rustic antiquity^ 
Around the village, on either side, spread fertile 
farms, each cultivated like a garden, varied by or- 
chards heavy with golden fruit, fields burdened 
with the massive shocks of corn, or whitened with 
the ripe buckwheat, or embrowned by the upturn- 
ing plough. 

The village looked calm and peaceful in the 
sunlight, but its plain and simple denizens went 
not forth to the field to work on that calm autura - 
nal afternoon. The oxen stood idly in the barn 
yard, cropping the fragrant hay, the teams stood 
unused by the flirmer, and the flail was silent 
within the barn. A sudden spell seemed to have 
come strangely down upon the peaceful denizens 
of Germantown, and that spell was the shadow of 
the British banner flung over her fields of while 
buckwheat, surmounting the dreamlike steeps of 



C 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 



the Wissahikon, waving from Mount Airy, and 
floating in the frcshning breeze of Chcsnut Hill. 
Th.e View from Chcsnut Hill. 

Had you ascended Chesnut Hill on that calm 
autumnal afternoon, and gazed over the tract of 
country opened to your view, your eye would have 
beheld a strange and stirring sight. 

Above your head the clear and boundless sky, 
its calm azure giving no tokens of the strife of 
the morrow ; declining in the west, the gorgeous 
sun pouring his golden light over the land, his 
beams of welcome having no omen of the battle 
smoke and mist that shall cloud their light on the 
morrow morn. 

Gaze on the valley below. Germantown, witjj 
its dark grey tenements, sweeps away to the south, 
in one unbroken line ; farther on you behold the 
glitter of steeples, and the roofs of a large city — 
they are the steeples and roofs of Philadelphia. 
Yon belt of blue is the broad Delaware, and yon 
dim, dark object beyond the city, blackening the 
bosom of the waters, is Fort Mifflin, recently erect- 
ed by General Washington. 

Gaze over the fields of Gennantcvvn near the 
centre of the village. In every field there is the 
gleam of arms, on every hill-top there waves a 
royal banner, and over hill and plain, toward the 
Schuylkill on the one side, and the Delaware on 
the other, sweep the white tents of the British 
army. 

Tbe Haunt of tlic Rebel. 

Now tarn your gaze to the north, and to the 
northwest. The valley opens before you, and fairer 
valley the sun never looked down upon. 

Away it sweeps to the northwest, an image of 
rustic beauty, here a rich copse of green woodland, 
just tinged by autumn, there a brown field, yonder 
the Wissahikon, marking its way of light, by a 
winding line of silver, in one green spot a village 
peeping out from among the trees; a little faitlicr 
on, a farmer's dwelling with the massive barn and 
the dark, grey hay-stack; on every side life, and 
verdure, and cultivation, mingled and crowded to- 
gether, as though the hand of God, had flung his 
richest blessings over the valley, and clothed the 
land in verdure and in beaut}'. 

Yonder the valley sweeps away to the south- 
west; the sun shines over a dense mass of wood- 
land rolling away to the blue of the horizon. Mark 
that woodland well, try and discern the outline of 
every tree, and count the miles as you gaze upon 
I he prospect. 

The dipluncc Cnnn ' 'lio nut Hill, is- pixtncn vvca 



ry miles, and under that mass of woodland, bc^ 
neath the shadows of those rolling forests, beside 
the streams hidden from your eye, in distress 
and in want, in defeat and in danger, rendevouz 
the bands of a desperate, though gallant army. 

It is the Continental army, and they encamp 
on the banks of the Skippack. Their encamp- 
ment is sad and still, no peals of music break up- 
on the woodland air, no loud hurrahs, no shouts 
of arrogant victory. The morrow has a different 
tale to tell, Ibr by the first flush of the coming 
moon, a meteor will burst over the British Hosts 
at Germantown, and fighting for life, for liberty, 
will advance the starved soldiers of the Continen- 
tal host. 

AnAnciexat Mansion and a green liaivn. 

As the sun went down in his way of glory, on 
that 3rd day of October, 1777, his last beams 
flung a veil of golden light over the verdure of a 
green lawn, that extended from the road near the 
head of Germantown, bounded along the village 
street by a massive wall of stone, spreading north 
and south, over a quarter of a mile, while toward 
the east, it swept in all its greenness and beauty, 
for the distance of some two hundred yards. 

A magnificent mansion arose towering on the 
air, a mansion built of grey stone, with a steep 
roof, ornamented by heavy cornices, and varied 
massive chimneys, with urns of brown stone, plac- 
ed on pedestals of brick at each corner of the 
building. This fabric was at once substantial, 
strikingly adapted for defence in time of war, 
and neat and well-proportioned as regards archi- 
tectural beauty. The walls thick and massive, 
were well supplied with windows, the hall door 
opened in the centre of the house, facing the road, 
and the steps were deeorated]by two marble Lions 
placed on either side, each holding an escutcheon 
in its grasp. 

Here and there a green tree arose from the bo- 
som of the lawn; in the rear of the mansion arose 
the brown-stone buildings of the barn, and to the 
north the grounds were varied by the rustic en- 
closures of a cattle pen. 

This was the mansion of Chew's House, and 
that green lawn, spreading bright and golden in 
he beams of the declining sun, was the Battle- 
Field OF Germantown. 

One word with r( g.ird to the position of the 
British on the Eve o!' Battle. 

Tlic Camp of ihf RviHslier. 

The left win? -^'f <Ii«^ Briii h .trmv oxtended 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMAN TOWN. 



from the centre of the village, more than a mile 
below Chew's house, from a point near the old 
market house, westward across the Wissahikon, 
and toward the Schuylkill. The German chas- 
seurs in their heavy uniform, the ponderous caps, 
defended by bear skin and steel, the massive sword, 
and the cumbrous ornaments of silver, were sta- 
tioned in the front and on the flank of the left 
wing. 

The right wing swept away towards the Dela- 
ware, as far as the Old York Road; each soldier 
well armed and accoutred, each dragoon supplied 
with his stout war-steed, each cannon with its file 
of men, ready for action, and every musket, with 
brilliant tube and glittering bayonet, prepared 
wiih its man, <for the keen chase of the rebel route, 
whenever the master of the hounds might start the 
hunt.' 

Tills wing was defended in the front by a bat- 
talion of light infantry, and the Queen's American 
Rangers, whose handsome accoutrements, uniform 
of dark green, varied by ornaments of gold, and 
rifles mounted with silver, gleamed gaily from amid 
the depths of the greenwood, presenting a bril- 
liant contrast to the coarse blue hunting shirt, the 
plain rifle, and uncouth woodsman's knife that 
characterised the American Riflemen. 

In a green field, situated near the Germantown 
road, a mile above Chew's house, the banner of 
the 40th regiment floated above the tent of Col. 
Musgrave, its brave commander, while the canvass 
dwellings of the soldiers were scattered around the 
field, intermingled with the tents of another bat- 
talion of light infantry. 

Such was the British position at Germantown 
— a picket at Allan's house. Mount Airy, two 
miles above Chew's house — Col. Musgrave's com- 
mand a mile below Allen's house — the main body 
two miles below Chew's, somewhere near the old 
market house — and this force was backed by four 
regiments of British Grenadiers, stationed in the 
barracks in the Northern Liberties, Philadelphia. 

And this force, exceeding 18000 able-bodied re- 
gulars, the Patriot chieftain had resolved to attack 
with 8000 Continental troops and 3000 militia, in- 
ferior in arms, in clothing, and in everything but the 
justice of their cause, to the proud soldiers of the 
British host. 

Niglit and Fear in Gci'mantown* 

Nighi came down upon Germantown. The 



long shadows of the old houses were flung across 
the village road, and along the fields; the moon 
was up in the clear heavens, the dark grey roofs 
were tinted with silver, and glimpses of moonlight 
were flung around the massive barns of the village, 
yet its peaceful denizens had not yet retired to 
rest, after their good old German fashion, at early 
candle-light. 

There was a strange fear upon the minds of the 
villagers. Each porch contained its little circle, 
the grey haired grandsire, who had suffered the 
bright-cheeked grandchild to glide from his knee, 
while he leaned forward, with animated gesture, 
conversing with his son in a low whisper — the 
blooming mother, the blue-eyed maiden, and the 
ruddy-cheeked, flaxen-haired boy, all sharing the 
interest of the scene and having but one terrible 
topic of discourse — the terror of war. 

Could we go back to that quiet autumnal night 
on the 3rd of October, in the Year of the "Three 
Sevens," and stroll along the village street of Gcr- 
mantovi^n, we would find much to interest the ear 
and attract the eye. 

A Stroll into the Olden Time* 

We would leave Chew's house behind us, we 
would stroll along the village street. We would 
note the old time costumes of the villagers, the 
men clad in coarse linsey wolsey, voluminous 
vests with wide lappels, breeches of buckskin, 
stockings and buckled shoes, while the head was 
defended by the skimming dish hat; we would ad- 
mire the picturesque costume of the dames atid 
damsels of Germantown, here and there a young 
lady of "quality" mincing her way in all the glory 
f high-heeled shoes, intricate head-dress, and fine 
silk gown, all hooped and frilled; there a stately 
dame in frock of calico, newly bought and high- 
priced; but most would we admire the blushing 
damsel of the village, her full round cheeks peep- 
ing from beneath the kerchief thrown lightly around 
her rich brown locks, her blue eyes glancing mis- 
chievously hither and thither, her bust, full round- 
ed and swelling with youth and health, enclosed 
in the tight bodice, while the rustic petticoat of 
brown linsey wolsey, just long enough to disclose 
a plump ancle and a little foot, would possess 
more attractions for our eyes, than the frock of 
calico or gown of silk. 

We could stroll along the street of the village, 



THR BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 



and listen to the conversation of the villagers.-— 
Every tongue speaks of war, the old man whispers 
the word as his grey hairs wave in the moonlight, 
the mother murmurs the syllable of terror as rhe 
babe seeks the shelter of her bosom, the boy gaily 
shouts the word, as he brandishes the rusted fowl- 
ing piece in the air, and the vill ige bean, seated 
beside his sweetheart, mutters that word as the 
thought of the British ravisher flashes over his 
mind. 

Tlie Old Settlers of Germaiitown. 

Strolling from Chew's House, we would pass 
the Bringhcrsts, seated on their porch, the Hei- 
tiGs, the Pkters, the Unrods just opposite Axe's 
Grave Yard, and the Lippards, and tha Joaif- 
soxs, below the grave yard, at the opposite cor- 
ners of the lane leading back to the township line; 
we would stroll by the mansion of the Ketsers, 
near the McEnistgraveyard;further down we would 
pass the Knorrs, the Haines, the Pastorius, 
the Hergeskimers, the Engees, the Cookes, 
the CoNRADS, the Watsons, the ScHiEFFEUs and 
the hundred other families of Gerraantown, desen- 
dants of old German stock, we would pass by, as 
seated on the porch in front of the mansion, each 
family circle discussed the terrible topic of war, 
of bloodshed, of battle and of death. 

And at every step, we would meet a British 
soldier, strutting by in his coat of crimson, on 
every side we would behold the gleam of Bri- 
tish arms, and our ears would be saluted by the 
roll of British drums, beating the tattoo, and the 
signal cannon, announcing the hopr of repose. 
Midnight around Cliew's House. 

And as midnight gathered over tlie roofs of the 
town, as the baying of the watchdog broke upon 
our ears, mingled with the challenge of the senti- 
nel, we would stroll over the lawn of Chew's House, 
note the grass growing greenly and freshly, heavy 
with dew, and then gazing upon the heavens, our 
hearts would ask the question, whetiier no omen 
of blood in the skies, heralded the doom and the 
death of tlie morrow? 

01), there is something of horror in the anti- 
cipation of a certain death, when we know as 
surely as wc know our own existence, that a 
coming bnlllc will send scores of souls shriek- 
ing to their last account, when the green lawn, 
now silvered by the moonlight, will be sod- 
dencd with blood, when the ancient mansion, now 
rising in the midnight air, like an cmhlcm^of ru- 



ral ease, with its chimneys and its roof sleeping in 
the moonbeams, will be a. scene of terrible contest 
with sword, and ball, and bayonet, when the roof 
will smoke with the lodged cannon ball, when the 
windows will send their volumes of flame across 
the lawn, when all around will be mist and gloom, 
grappling foemen, heaps of dying mingled with 
the dead, charging legions, and recoiling squad- 
rons. 

Sunset ou tlie Skippack* 

And as the sun went down, on that calm day 
of autumn, shooting his level beams thro' the wilds 
of the rivulet of the Skippack, there gathered within 
the woods, and along the shores of that stream, 
a gallant and desperate army, with every steed 
ready for the march, with the columns marshalled 
for the journey of death, every man with his knap- 
sack on his shoulder, with his musket ready for 
action, while the broad banner of the Continental 
Host drooped heavily over head, its folds rent 
and torn by the fight of Brandywine, waving 
solemnly in the twilight.* 

The tents were struck, the camp fires where had 
been prepared the hasty supper of the soldier, 
were still burning, the neighing of steeds, and the 
suppressed rattle of arms, rang thro' the grove 
startling the night-bird ol the Skippack, when the 
flashing light of a decaying flame, burning around 
the stump ot a great oak, revealed a scene of 
strange and terrible interest. 

Tlie I<ast Council. 

The flame light fell upon the features of a gal- 
lant band of heroes, circling round the fire, each 
with his war cloak, drooping over his shoulder, 
half concealing the uniform of blue and buff, each 
with sword by his side, chapeau in hand, ready 
to spring upon his war steed neighing in the grove 
hard by, at a moment's warning, while every eye 
was fixed upon the face of the chieftain who stood 
in their midst. 

By the soul of Mad Anthony it wa$ a sight that 
would have stirred a man's blood to look upon— that 
sight of the gallant chieftains of a gallant band, 
clustering round the camp fire, in the last and 
most solemn council of war, ere tiiey spurred 
their steeds forward in the march of death. 

The man virith the form of majesty, and that 
calm, impenetrable face, lighted by the hidden fire 
of soul bursting forth ever and again in the glance 
of his eycl Had you listened to the murmurs of 

* The Skippack, the reader will remember, was 
some IG miles from Germuntown. 



.6 



THE DATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWNo 



the dying- on the field of Brandywinc you would 
have lieard the name, that has long since become 
a sound of prayer and blessing on the tongues of 
nations — the name of Washington. And by his 
side was Greene, his fine countenance wearing 
a shade of serious thought; and there listlessly 
thrusting his glittering sword in the embers of 
the decaying fire, with his fierce eyes fixed upon 
the earth, while his mustachioed lip gave a stern 
expression to his face, was the man of Poland and 
the Patriot of Brandywinc, Pulaski, whom it were 
tautology to call the brave; there was the tower- 
ing form of Sullivan, there was Conway, with his 
fine face and expressive features, there was Arm- 
strong and Nash and Maxwell and Stirling and 
Stephens, all brave men and true, side by side 
with the gallant Smallw^ood of Maryland, and the 
stalwart Forman of Jersey. 

And there with his muscular chest, clad in the 
close buttoned blue coat, with his fatigue cloak 
thrown over his left shoulder, with his hand rest- 
ing on the hilt of his sword, was the hero of 
Chadd's Ford,theCommander of the Massacred of 
Paoli, the future avenger of Stony Point, Anthony 
Wayne, whom the soldiers loved in their delight 
to name Mad Anthony; shouting that name in 
the hour of the charge and in the moment of death 
like a watchword of terror to the British Army. 

Clustered around their Chief, were the aids de- 
camp of Washington, John Marshall, afterwards 
Chief Justice of the Slates, Alexander Hamil- 
ton, gifted, gallant, and brave, Washington's 
counsellor in the hour of peril, his bosom friend 
and confidant, all standing in the same circle with 
PiCKERrNG and Lee, the Captain of the Partizan 
Band, with his slight form and swarthy face, 
who was on that eventful night detailed for duty 
near the Commander-in-chief. 

The Plan of tlie Battle. 

And as tlicy stood there clustered round the 
person of Washington, in a mild yet decided voice, 
the chieftain spoke to them of the plan of the con- 
templated surprise and battle. 

It was his object to take the British by surprise. 
He intended for the accomplishment of this object, 
to attack them at once in the front of each wing, 
as well as in the front of the centre; on the flank 
and on the rear of each wing. This plan of opera- 
tion would force the American commander to ex- 
tend the continental army over a surface of from 
five to seven miles. 

In order to make this plan of attack cfToctive, it 
would be necessary for the American army to 



separate near Skippack, and advance to German, 
town in four divisions, marching through as many 
roads. 

General Armstrong with the Pennsylvania mili- 
tia, 3000 strong, was to march down the Mana- 
inwny road (now Ridge road,) and traversing the 
shores of the Schuylkill, until the beautiful Wis- 
sahikon poured into its bosom, he was to turn the 
left flank of the enemy at Vandurings (now Rob- 
inson's) Mill, and then advance eastward, along 
the bye roads, until two miles distance between this 
mill and the Germanlown market-house were ac- 
complished. 

jyieanwhile the Militia of Maryland and New 
Jersey, were to take up their line of march some 
seven or eight miles to the eastward of Armstrong's 
position, and over three miles distance from Ger- 
mantown. They were to march down the Old 
York Road, turn the right flank of the enemy, and 
attack it in the rear, also entering the town at the 
market-house, which was the central point of opera- 
tion for all the divisions. 

Between Germantown and Old York Road, at 
the distance of near two miles from the village^ 
extends a road, called Limekiln roa<l. The divis- 
ions of Greene and Stephens flanked by McDou- 
gal's Brigade were to take a circuit by this road, 
and attack the front of the enemy's right wing. 
They, also were to enter the town by the market- 
house. 

The main body, with which was Washington, 
Wayne, and Sullivan, were to advance toward 
Germantown by the Great Northern Road, enter 
ing the town by way of Chesnut Hill, some foiir 
miles distant from the Market-house. 

A column of this body was led on by Sullivan 
another by Wayne, and Conway's Brigade flanked 
the entire force. • 

While these four divisions advanced, the divis 
ion of Lord Stirling, combined with the brigades 
of Maxwell and Nash were to form a corps de re- 
serve. 

The reader, and the student of American His. 
tory, has now the plan of battle spread out before 
him. In order to take in the full particulars of 
this magnificent plan of battle, it may be necessary 
to remember the exact nature of the ground around 
Germantown. 

The Crrountl around G«rinantovvu. 

In some places plain and level, in others broken 
by ravines, rendered intricale by woods, tangled 
by thickets, or traversed by streams, it was in 
its most accessible points, and most favorablp as- 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GEllMANTOWiV. 



pects, broken by enclosures, difficult fences, mass" 
ivc stone walls, or other boundary marks of land, 
rendering the operation of cavalry at all times 
hazardous, and often impossible. 

In the vicinage of the town, for near a mile on 
cither side, the land spread greenly away, in level 
fields, still broken by enclosures, and then came 
thick woods, steep hills and dark ravines. 

The base line of operations was the country 
around Skippack Creek, from which point, Wash- 
ington, like a mighty giant, spread forth the four 
arms of his force, clutching the enemy in front, 
on his wings and on his rear, all at the same mo- 
ment. 

It was a magnificent plan of battle, and success 
already seemed to hover round the American ban- 
ner, followed by a defeat of the British, as terrible as 
that of Yorktown, when the red-coat heroes of Gcr- 
manlown struck their own Lion from his rock. 

As Washington went over the details of battle, 
each brave officer and scarred chieftain leaned 
forward, taking in every word, with absorbing in- 
terest, and then receiving the orders of his com- 



mander, with the utmost attention and considera- 
tion. 

All was now planned, everything was ready for 
the march, each General mounted on his war- 
steed, rode to the head of his division, and with a 
low solemn peal of music, the night-march of 
Germantovvn commenced. 

And through the solemn hours of that night, 
along the whole valley, on every side, was heard 
the half suppressed sound of marching legions, 
mingled with the low muttered word ofcommand, 
the clank of arms and the neighing of war-steeds 
— all dim and indistinct, yet terrible to hear. — 
The farmer sleeping on his humble coucli, rushed 
to the window of his rustic mansion at the sound, 
and while his wife stood beside him, all tremor 
and affright, and his little ones clung to his knees 
in alarm, he saw with a mingled look of surprise 
and fear, the forms of an armed band, some on 
horse and some on foot, sweeping through his 
green fields, as the dim moonbeams shining 
through the gathering mist and gloom, shone over 
glittering arms, and dusky banners, all gliding 
past, like phantoms of the Spectre Land. 



THE SHROUD OF DEATH. 



Ghastly and white, 

Tlirough the gloom of the night, 

From plain and from heath, 

Like a shroud of death, 

The mist all slowly and sullenly sweeps — 
A shroud of death for the myriad brave, 
Who to-morrow shall find the tombless grave — 

In mid heaven now a bright spirit weeps ; 
While sullenly, slowly rises that pall. 
Crimson tears for the brave who shall fall, 
Crimson tears for the dead without tomb, 
Crimson tears for the death and the doom — 
Crimson tears of an angel's sorrow, 
For the havoc, the bloodshed, the carnage and 

gloom, 
That shall startle the field on the morrow ; — 

Tlxe DayTjrcak Watcli* 

Along the porch of an ancient mansion, sur- 
mounting the height of Mount Airy, strode the 
sentinel of the British picket, his tall form loom- 
ing like the figure of a giant in the gathering 
mist, while the musquct on his shoulder was 
grasped by a hand red with American blood. 

lie strode slowly along the porch, keeping his 
lonely watch; now turning to gaze at tlie dark 
shadow of the mansion towering above him, now 
fixing hi.s eye along the Germuiitown road, uo it 
wound down the Inll, on itb nuithwaid course; 



And up to the heavens now whitens the mist. 
Shrouding the morn with a fiery glare; 
Solemn voices now startle the air, 
To their sounds of omen you are fain to list: 
To listen and tremble, and hold your breath; 
While the air is thronging witli shapes of death. 
*'0n, on over valley and plain the legions tramp. 
Scenting the foemen who sleep in their camp; 
Now bare the sword from its sheath bloou-red, 
Now dig the pits for the unwept dead; 
Now let the cannon give light to the hour, 
And carnage stalk forth in liis crimson power. 
Lo ! on the plain lay myriads gasping for 

breath — 
While the mist it is rising — tue Siiuoun of 

Death !" 

and again he gazed upon the landscape around 
hitn, wrapt in a gathering mist, which chilled his 
blood, and rendered all objects around him dim 
and indistinct. 

Up Rises t!ic Mist. 
All around was vague and shadowy. The mist, 
with its white wreaths and snowy columns, came 
sweeping up on every side, from the bosom of the 
Wissahikon, from tl)e depths of ;i tlif)usand brook- 
lets, over hill and over valley, circled that dense 
and gathering exhalation ; covering the woods 
with ito yliuiilly pull, lolling over the plaiiio, and 



8 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 



winding upward around the height of Mount 
Airy, enveloping the cottages opposite the sentinel 
in its folds of gloom, and confining the view to a 
space of twenty paces from the porch, where he 
kept his solitary watch — to him, a watch of death. 
It is now daybreak, and a strange sound meets 
that soldier's ear. It is now daybreak, and his 
comrades sleep within the walls of Allen's house, 
and a strange, low, murmuring noise, heard from 
a great distance, causes him to incline his ear with 
attention, and to listen vvilli hushed breath and 
parted lips. 

The Soiintl of Distant Waters. 

He listens. It is a distant sound — very distant; 
like the rush of waters, or the moaning of the 
young August storm, bursting into life amid the 
ravines of the far-off mountains. It swells on the 
ear — it spreads to the east and to the west: it 
strikes the sentinel's heart with a strange fear, 
and he shoulders his musquet with a firmer grasp; 
and now a merry smile wreathes his lips. 

That sound — it is the rush of waters : the Wis- 
sahikon has flooded its banks, and is pouring its 
torrent over the meadows, while it rolls onward 
towards the Schuylkill. The sentinel smiles at 
his discovery, and resumes his measured stride. 
He is right — and yet not altogether right. A 
stream has burst its banks, but not the Wissahi- 
kon. A stream of vengeance — dark, wild, and 
terrible, vexed by passion, aroused by revenge, 
boiling and seething from its unfathomable deeps — 
is flowing from the north, and on its bosom are 
borne men with strong arms and stout hearts, 
swelling the turbulence of the waters; while a 
tide of sword and bayonet is rushing madly on- 
ward. 

The day is breaking — sadly and ghastly break- 
ing ; along the veil of mist, that whitens over the 
face of nature like a Shroud of Death for mil- 
lions, the day is slowly, solemnly, and sadly 
breaking, and the sentinel leans idly upon the 
bannisters of the porch, relaxes the grasp of his 
musquet, inclines his head to one side, and no 
longer looks upon the face of nature covered by 
mist. He sleeps. The sound not long ago far 
off, is now near and mighty in its volume, tlic 
tramp of steeds startles tiie silence of Ihc road, 
suppressed tones are heard, and tbicre is a r.oisc 
like the moving of legions. 

Tlic First Corse of Gci-mantowii. 

It grows nearer and nearer I The clatlci ul 
Ijorses' hoofs break along the road above Mount 



Airy, and one long blaze of light glares through 
the wliitcning mist, lifting for a moment the pall 
of gloom^ while a terrible echo arises, shrieking 
around the scene. The light blazes through the 
mist, and at the very moment the clatter of a fall- 
ing musquet rings along the porch of Allen's house. 
The sentinel is dead at his post, his back to the 
floor of the porch, his ghastly face upturned, and 
his muscular hands vainly clutching at the red 
wound between his eyes. 

That strange flash, lifting the shroud of mist, 
is the first shot of the battle-dav of Germantown» 
and that corpse stretched along the floor of the 
porch, is the first dead man of that day of horror. 
And now forms of armed men, with eager faces 
and stout forms, with upraised musquets and drawn 
swords, break on the scene, and surround Allen's 
house; while the voice of Sullivan is heard far 
down the road, urging the men of tlie first column 
onward in the march ; and then the battle shout 
of Anthony Wayne is borne along by the morning 
breeze. 

The Hunt is Up. 
Allen's house is surrounded. The soldiers of 
the picket guard rush wildly from their beds, from 
the scene of their late carousal by the fire the^^ 
rush, and seize their arms — but in vain ! A bla/ 
of fire streams in every window, soldier after sol 
ier falls heavily to the floor, the picket guard a) 
surprised, Allen's house is secured, and the hui 
is up I 

Great God, v/hat a scene ! The whole roa< 
farther than eye could see, farther than ear coui 
hear, crowded by armed men, hurrying over Che- 
nut Hill, hurrying along the valley between Che. 
nut Hill and Mount Airy, sweeping up the hill f 
Allen's house, rushing onward in one dense co 
umn, with the tall form of Sullivan at their hea 
with the war sliout of Anthony Wayne hear 
from the centre of his column; while riding fro" 
rank to rank, speeding from battalion to battalio 
from column to column, a form of majesty swee; 
by, mounted on a -steed of iron grey, waving e 
couragemenl to the men, while every lip repea * 
the whis[?er, and every heart beats at the soun ' 
echoed like a word of magic along the lines- ' 
"There he rides — how grandly his form towers 
the mist; it's Washington — it's Washington" 
and the whole army take up the sound — " It 
Washington I" 

Allen's house was pa.sscd, and now the path oi 
the central body of the aimy lay along the descent 
of the road frouj Mount Aijy, Ibi the upace of a 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMAN TOWPf. 



9 



trtile, until the quarters of Colonel Musgrave's 
regiment were reached. 

The Tramp of the Iiegious. 

The descent was like the path of a hurricane. 
The light of the breaking day, streaming dimly 
through mist and gloom, fell over the forms of 
the patriot band as they swept down the hill, every 
man with his musquet ready for the charge, every 
trooper with his sword drawn, every eye fixed 
upon the shroud of mist in front of their palh, in 
the vain effort to gaze upon the position of the ad- 
Vance post of the enemy a mile below, every heart 
throbbing wildly with the excitement of the com- 
ing contest, and all prepared for the keen encoun- 
ter, — the fight, hand to hand, foot to foot, the 
charge of death, and the sweeping hail of the iron 
Cannon ball and the leaden bullet. 

How it would have made your heart throb, and 
beat and throb again, to have stood on that hill of 
Mount Airy, and looked upon the legions as they 
rushed by. 

Sullivan's men have passed, they arc dovvn the 
hill, and you see them below, — rank after rank 
disappearing in the pail of the enveloping mist. 

The Men of Paoli. 

Here they come — a band brave and true, a band 

Vith scarred faces and sunburnt visages, with 

Listed musquets and tattered apparel, yet with 

rue hearts and stout hands. 

In their midst rides that soldier with the tall 

: form, marked by the broad shoulders and the mus- 

. pular chest ; that soldier with the eye of fire and 

,lhe voice like thunder; now he waves his sword 

on high, now he turns from side to side, speaking 

,, cheerfully to his soldiers, while his steed springs 

, forward in the race, and every eye beholds him, 

and every heart gathers courage at the echo of 

his name. 

And then his voice — how it rings out upon the 
morning air, rising above the clatter of arms and 
■the tramp of steeds, rising in a mighty shout — 
,'■' On, boys, on ! In a moment we'll have them. 
On, comrades, on — and remember Paoli !" 

Conivay ou the March. 

And then comes the band with the gallant 
.-. iFrenchman at their head, the brave Conway, brave 
though unfortunate, also rushing wildly by, in the 
:rain of the hunt; while your eye sickens as you 
ra.te over file after file of brave men, with mean 
apparel and meaner arms, some half clad, others 
well nigh barefoot, yet treading gaily over the 
flinty ground; some with fragments of a coat on 



their backs, others without covering for their head, 
all marked by wounds, all thinned by hunger and 
disease, yet every man of them is firm, every hand 
is true, as it clutches the musquet with an eager 
grasp. 

The Brave Polander. 

Ha ! That gallant band who came trooping on, 
spurring their stout steeds, with wide haunches 
and chests ot iron, hastily forward, that band with 
every face seamed by scars, and darkened by the 
thick mustachio, every eye gleaming beneath a 
knit brow, every swarthy hand raising the tremen- 
dous sword on high. They wear the look of for- 
eigners, the manner of men trained to fight in the 
exterminating wars of Europe. 

And their leader is tall and well-proportioned, 
with a dark-hued face, marked by a compressed lip, 
rendered fierce by the overhanging mustachio* 
his brow is shaded by the trooper's plume, and 
his hand grasps the trooper's sword. He speaks 
to his men in a foreign tongue, he reminds them 
of the well-fought field on the plain of Poland, he 
whispers a quick, terrible memento of Brandy wine 
and Paoli, and the clear word rings from his lips. 

" Forwarts, — briidern, — forwarts I" 

It is the band of Pulaski sweeping past, eager 
for the hunt of death, and as they spur their steeds 
forward, a terrible confusion arises far ahead. 

The Cagle darts upon the liion. 

There is flashing of strange fires through the 
folds of mist, lifting the snow-white pall for a mo* 
raent— ^there is rolling of musquetry, rattling 
like the thunderbolt ere it strikes — there is the 
tramp of hurrying legions, the far-ofi^ shout of the 
charging continentals^ and the yells and shouts of 
the surprised foemen. 

Sullivan is upon the camp of the enemy, upofl 
them with the terror of ball and bayonet. They 
rnsh from their camp, they form hastily across 
the road, in front of their baggage, each red-coated 
trooper seeks his steed, each footman grasps his 
musquet and the loud voice of Musgrave, hurrying 
wildly along the line of crimson attire and flashing 
bayonets is heard above all other sounds, — "Form 
— lads, form — fall in there — to your arms, lads, to 
your arms. — Form, comrades, form!" 

In vain his shouting, in vain the haste of his men 
rushing from their beds, into the very path of the 
advancing continentials! The men of Sullivan are 
upon themi They sweep on with one bold frontj 
the forms of the troopers, mounted on their war- 
steeds, looming througii the mist, as with Eword 



10 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWJf. 



upraised, and battle-shout pealing to the skies, 
they lead on the charge of death! 

Eternity crowclccl into a Moment* 

A moment of terror, a moment made an age by 
suspense! Tiie troopers meet, mid-way in their 
charge, horse to horse, sword mingled with sword, 
eye glaring in eye, they meet, and as the earth- 
quake shock shakes the very ground, steeds recoil 
on their haunches, the British strew the roadside, 
flooding the dust with their blood, and the music 
of battle, the fierce music of dying groans and 
cries of death, rises up with the fog, startling the 
very heavens with its discord! 

The hunt te up! 

"On — boys — on" — rings the voice of Mad An- 
thony — "on — comrades — on — and Remember Pa- 
oli!" 

*^ Charge!" sounds the voice of Washington, 
shrieking along the line, like the voice ot a migh- 
ty spirit — "upon them — over them!" Conway re- 
echoes the sound, Sullivan has already made the air 
ring with his shout, and now Pulaski, takes up the 
cry — ^'•Forwarls — brudern — Forwarts!" 

The hunt is up! 

The fight of the Avengers. 

The British face the bayonets of the advancing 
Americans, but in vain! Each bold backwoods- 
man sends his volley of death along the British 
line, and then clubbing his musqaet rushes wildly 
forward, beating the red-coat to the sod with a 
blow that cannot be stayed. The British troopers 
rush forward in the charge, bat ere half the dis- 
tance between them and the American host is 
measured, Mad Anthony comes tliundering on, 
with his Legion of Iron, and as his war-shout 
swells loudly above, the red-coats are driven back 
by the hurricane force of his charge, the ground 
is strewn with the dying, and the red hoofs of the 
horse, trample madly over the faces of the dead. 

Wayne charges, Pulaski charges, Conway 
brings up his men, and Washington rides in the 
very glare of the mellay. 

A Scene lighted hy the Mnstect-'flash- 

The fires of the infantry, spreading a sheeted 
flame thro' the folds of the mist, light up the scene, 
and the never-ceasing clang of sword against 
sword, the low muttered shriek of the fallen, vain- 
ly trying to stop the flow of blood, the wild, dread 
yell of the soldier, gazing madly round as he re- 
ceives his death wound, the shout of the charge, 
and the involuntary cry of 'quarter,' all furnish a 
imusic most dread and horrible, as tho' an infer- 



nal band, were urging on the work of slaughter 
with their notes of fiendish mockery. 

That flash of musquetry! What a light it gives 
the scene! Above, clouds of white mist and lurid 
smoke; around, all hurry, and tramp, and motion, 
faces darkened by all the passions of a demon, 
glaring madly in the light, blood red hands up- 
raised, meeting foemen grappling in contest, 
swords rising and falling, glaring and glitteringy 
the forms of the wounded, with their faces 
buried in the earth, the ghastly dead, all heaped 
up in positions of ludicrous mockery of death, along 
the roadside! 

That flash of musquetry! 

The form of Washington is in the centre of the 
mellay, the battle glare lighting up his face of 
majesty; the stalwart form of Wayne is seen riding* 
hither and thither, waving a dripping sword in 
his good right hand; the figure of Pulaski, dark as 
the form of an earth riven spirit of some German 
story, breaks on your eye, as, enveloped in mist, 
he seems rushing everywhere at the same moment, 
fighting in all points of the contest, hurrying his 
men onward, and driving the aflfrighted British 
before him, with the terror of his charge. 

**To Chevir's House— AivayJ» 

And Col. Musgrave — where is he? 

He shouts the charge to his men, he hurries hi- 
ther and thither, he shouts till he is hoarse, he 
fights till his person is red with the blood of his 
own men, slain before his very eyes, but all in 
vain! 

He shouts the word of retreat along his line— 
"Away, my men, away to Chew's House — 
away!" 

The retreat commences, and then, indeed, the 
hunt of death is up in good earnest. 

The British wheel down the Grermantpwn road,. 
tl^ey turn their backs to their foes, they flee wild- 
ly toward Germantown, leaving their dead and dy- 
ing in their wake, man and Iiorse, they flee, some 
scattering thsir arms by the roadside, others weak- 
ened by loss of blood, feebly endeavoring to join 
the retreat, and then falling dead in the path of 
the pursuers, who with one bold front, with one 
firm step rush after the British in their flight, ride 
down the fleeing ranks, and scatter death along 
the hurrying columns. 

The fever of bloodshed grows hotter, the chase 
grows fearful in interest, the hounds who so often 
have worried down the starved Americans,, are 
now hunted in their turn. 



THE BATTLE-DAY OP GERMANTOWN. 



11 



And in the very van of pursuit, his tall form 
seen by every soldier, rode George Washington, his 
mind strained to a pitch of agony, as the crisis of 
the contest approached, and by his side rode Mad 
Anthony Wayne, now Mad Anthony indeed, for 
his whole appearance was changed, his eye seem- 
ed turned to a thing of living flame, his face 
was begrimed with soot, his sword was red 
with blood andhisbattle-shout rung fiercer on the 
air — 

"Over them boys — upon them — over them, and 
Remember PaoliI" 

"Now, Wayne, «02«" — shouted Washington — 
"one charge more and we have them !" 

"Forwarts — brudern — forwarts !" shouted Pulas 
ki, as his iron band came thundering on — "For- 
warts — for Washington — Forwarts !" 

The Fli|;lit alonig tlie Germantown M.oa,d 

The British leader wheeled his steed for a mo- 
ment and gazed upon his pursuers. All around 
was bloodshed, gloom, and death, mist and smoke 
above, flame around, and mangled corses below. — 
With one hoarse shout, he again bade his men 
make for Chew's House, and again the dying 
scattered along the path looked up, and beheld the 
British sweeping madly down the road. 

The vanguard of the pursuers had gained the 
upper end of Chew's wall, when the remnant of 
the British force disappeared in the fog; file after 
file of the crimson-coaled British Vi'ere lost to 
sight in the mist, and in the very heat and flush of 
the chase, the American army was brought to 
a halt in front of Chew's wall, each soldier falling 
back on his comrade v.'ith a sudden recoil 
while the oflicers gazed on each other's faces in 
vain inquiry for the cause of this unexpected de- 
Jay. 

The fog gathered in dense folds over the heads 
of the soldiers, thicker and more dense it gathered 
every instant; the enemy was lost to sight in the 
direction of Chew's lawn, and a fearful pause of 
silence from the din and tumult of bloodshed en- 
sued for a single moment. 

Tlie Council in the heat of Battle. 

Leaning from his steed in front of the gate that 
led into Chew's lawn, Washington gazed round 
upon the faces of his staff", who circled him on 
every side, with each steed recoiling on his haun- 
ches from the sudden effect of the halt. 

Washington was about to speak as he leaned 
from his steed, with his sword half lowered in the 
misty air, he was about to speak, and ask the 



meaning of this sudden disappearance of the Bri- 
tis!i, when a lurid flash, lifted up the fog from the 
lawn, and the thunder of musquetry echoed along 
the air, quivering among the nooks and corners of 
the ancient houses on the opposite side of the 
street. 

Another moment, and a soldier with face all 
crimsoned with blood and darkened by battle 
smoke rushed thro' the group clustering around 
the horse of Washington, and in a hurried voice 
announced that the remnant of the British Regi- 
ment had thrown themselves into the substantial 
stone mansion on the left, and seemed determined 
to make good a desperate defence. 

"What say you, gentlemen" — cried Washing- 
ton — "shall we press onward, into the town, and 
attack the main body of the enemy at once, or 
shall we first drive the enemy from their strong 
hold, at this mansion on our leftl" 

The answer of Wayne was short and to the 
point, ''Onward" — he shouted, and his sword 
rose in the air, all dripping with blood — "On- 
ward into the town — our soldiers are warmed 
with the chase — onward, and with another blow, 
we have them!" 

And the gallant Hamilton, the brave Pickering, 
the gifted ?^arshall, echoed the cry — "Onward"— 
while the hoarse shout of Pulaski rang out in 
the air — "Forwarts — briidern — Forwarts!" 

"It is against every rule of military science" — 
exclaimed General Knox, whose opinion in 
council was ever valuable with Washington — "It 
is against every rule of military science, to leave 
a forlified stronghold in the rear of an advancing 
army. Let us first reduce the mansion on our 
left, and then move forward into the centre of the 
town!" 

There was another moment of solemn council 
the older officers of the staff united in opinion 
with Knox, and with one, quick anxious glance 
around the scene of fog and mist, Washington 
gave the orders to storm the house. 

Storm the House* 

And at the word while a steady volume of flame 
was flashing from Chew's House, every window 
pouring forth its blaze, flashing over the wreath of 
mist, the continentals, horse and foot, formed 
across the road, to the north of the house, eager 
for the signal, which would bid them advance into 
the very jaws of death. 



12 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTTOWN^. 



The artillery were rang^ed some three hundred 
yards from the mansion — their cannon beingr plac- 
ed on a slight elevation, and pointed at the north- 
west corner of the house. This was one of the 
grand mistakes of the battle, occasioned by the 
density of the fog. Had tlie cannon been placed in a 
proper position, the house would have been reduc- 
ed ere the first warm flush of pursuit was cold in 
the cheeks of the soldiers. 

But the fog gathered thicker and more densely 
around, the soldiers moved like men moving in 
the dark, and all was vague, dim, undefined and 
uncertain.. 

All ready for tlie Banquet of Death. 

All was ready for the storm. Here were men with 
firebrands ready to rush forward under the cover 
of the first volley of musquetry and fire the house; 
here were long lines of soldiers grasping their guns 
with a quick nervous movement, one foot advanced 
in the act of springing forward; yonder were the 
cannoniers, their pieces loaded, the linstock in 
the hand of one soldier, while another stood ready 
with the next charge of ammunition; on every side 
was intense suspense and expectation, and heard 
above all other sounds, the rattle of the British 
musquets, rose like thunder over Chew's lawn, and 
seen the brightest of all other sights, the light 
of the British guns, streamed red and lurid over 
the field, giving a strange brilliancy to the wreaths 
of mist above, and columns of armed men below. 

The Flag of Truce. 

Tradition states that at this moment, when eve- 
ry thing was ready for the storm of death, an ex- 
pression of the most intense thought passed over 
the impenetrable countenance of Washington. 
Jivery line of his features was marked by thought, 
his lip was sternly compressed, and his eye gath- 
ered a strange brilliancy. 

He turned to the east, and bent one long anxious 
gaze over the white folds of mist, as though he 
would pierce the fog with his glance, and gaze upon 
the advancing columns of Greene and Stephen. 
He inclined his head to one side of his steed, and 
listened for the tramp of their war-horses, but in 
vain. He turned towards Germantown; all was 
silent in that direction, the main body of the ene- 
my were not yet in motion. 

And then in a calm voice, he asked for an oflScer 
who would consent to bear a flag of truce to the 
enemy. A young and gallant officer of Lee's 
^^ngers, spjrang from his horse, his name Lieut. 



Smith, he assumed the snow-white flag held sa- 
cred by all nations, and, with a single glance at 
the Continental array, he advanced to Chew's 
House. 

Tn a moment he was lost to sight amid the folds 
of the fog, and his way lay over the green lawn for 
some two hundred yards. All was still and silent 
around him. Tradition states that the fire from 
the house ceased for a moment, while Musgravo's 
band were silently maturing their plan of desperate 
defence. The young soldier advanced along his 
lonely path, speeding through the bosom of the fog, 
all objects lost to his sight, save the green verdure 
of the sod, yet uncrimsoned by blood, and here and 
there the trunk of a giant tree looming blackly 
through the mist. 

The outline of a noble mansion began to dawn 
on his eye, first the sloping ro©f, then ihe massive 
chimneys, then the front of the edifice, and then 
its windows, all crowded with soldiers in their 
crimson attire, whiskered face appearing above face, 
with grisly musket and glittering bayonet, thrust 
oat upon the air, while with fierce glances, the 
hirelings looked forth into the bosom of that fearful 
mist, which still, like a deaih-shroud for millions, 
hung over the lawn, and over the chimneys of the 
house. 

The Honor of the Britisher. 

The young officer came steadily on, and now he 
stood some thirty paces from the house, waving his 
while flag on high, and then with an even step he 
advanced toward the hall door. He advanced, but 
he never reached that hall door. He was within 
the scope of the British soldiers' vision, they could 
have almost touched him with an extended flag- 
staff, when the loud word of command rang through 
the house, a volley of fire blazed from every win-^ 
dow, and the whole American army saw the fog 
lifted from the surface of the lawn, like a vast cur- 
tain from the scenes of a magnificent theatre, 

Slowly and heavily that curtain uprose, and a 
hail storm of bullets whistled across the plain, when 
the soldiers of the Continental host looked for their 
messenger of peace. 

They beheld a gallant form in front of the man- 
sion. He seemed making an effort to advance, 
and then he tottered to and fro, and his white flag 
disappeared for a moment; and the next instant 
he fell down like a heavy weight upon the sod, 
and a hand trembling with the pulse of death was 
raised above his head, waving a white flag in the 
air. That flag was stained with blood : it was 



THE BATTLE DAY OF GERiSAiNTOWN. 



13 



the warm blood flowing from^ the young- Virgin- 
ian's heart. 

Along the whole American line there rang one 
wild yell of horror. Old men raised tlieir mus- 
quels on high, while the tears gathered in their 
eyes; the young soldiers all moved forward with 
one sudden step; a wild light blazed in the eye of 
Washington; Wayne waved his dripping sword 



on high; PulasJ^i raised his proud form in the stir. 

rups, and gave one meaning glance to his men; 
and then, through every rank and file, through 
every column and solid square, rang the terrible 
words of command, and high above all other 
sounds was heard the voice of Washington — 

*' Charge, for your country and for vengeance^- 
charge!" 



THE FIGHT AT CHEW'S HOUSE 

Now bare tlie sword from its sheath blood-refl, 

'Tis wet with the gore of the massacred dead ; 

Now raise the sword in the cause most holy — 
And while the whispers of ghosts break on your ear, 
Oh ! strike without mercy, or pity, or fear ; 

Oh! strike for the massacred dead of Paoli! 

KEVOLUTIONARy SONQ. 



The Flame arotuid tlie House* 

And while the mist gathered thicker and dark- 
er above, while the lurid columns of battle smoke 
waved like a banner overhead, while all around 
was dim and indistinct, — all objects rendeted lar- 
ger and swelled to gigantic proportions by the ac- 
tion of the fog, — along that green lawn arose the 
sound of charging legions, and the blaze of mus- 
quetry flashing from the windows of Chew's house, 
gave a terrible light to ihe theatre of death. 

Again, like a vast curtain, the mist uprose, — 
again were seen armed men brandishing swords 
aloft, or presenting fixed bayonets, or holding 
the sure rifle in their unfailing grasp, or yet again 
waving torches on high, all rushing madly for- 
ward, still in regular columns, file atter file, squad- 
ron after squadron — a fierce array of battle and of 
death. 

T3ie Theatre of Death* 
It was a sight worth a score of peaceful years 
to see ! The dark and heavy pall of battle smoke 
overhead, mingled with curling wreaths of snow- 
white mist — the curtain of this theatre of death — 
the mansion of dark, grey stone, rising massive 
and ponderous from the lawn, each peak and cor- 
ner, each buttress and each angle, shown clearly 
by the light of the musquet flash — the green lawn 
spreading away from the house — the stage of the 
dread theatre — crowded by bands of advancing 
men, with arms glittering in the fearful light, 
with fierce faces stamped with looks of vengeance, 
sweeping forward with one steady step, their eyes 
fixed upon the fatal house ; while over tlTeir heads, 
jind among their ranks, swept and fell the leaden 



bullets of their foes, hissing through the air with 
the sound of serpents, or pattering on the sod like 
a hailstorm of death. 

And while a single brigade, with which was 
Washington and Sullivan and Wayne, swept on- 
ward toward the house, the other troops of the 
central division, extending east and west along 
the fields, were forced to remain inactive spectators 
of this scene of death, while each man vainly en- 
deavored to pierce the gloom of the mist and smoke 
and observe the course of the terrible fight. 
The Forlorn. Hope* 
Some thirty yards of green lawn now lay be- 
tween the forlorn hope of the advancing Americans 
and Chew's house; all became suddenly still and 
hushed, and the continentals could hear their own 
foot tramp breaking upon the air with a deadened 
sound, as they swept onward toward the mansion. 
A moment of terrible stillness, and then a mo- 
ment of bloodshed and horror I Like the crash 
of thunderbolts meeting in the zenith from distant 
points of the heavens, the sound of musquetry 
broke over the lawn, and from every window of 
Chew's house, from the hall door, and from behind 
the chimneys on the roof, rolled the dense columns 
of musquet smoke ; while on every side, overhead, 
around, and beneath, the musquet flash of the 
British glared like earth-riven lightning in the 
faces of the Americans, and then the mist and 
smoke came down like a pall, and for a moment 
all was dark as midnight. 

A wild yell broke along the American line, and 
then the voice of Wayne rung out through the 
darkness and the gloom — "Sweep forward under 



14 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 



the cover of the smoke — sweep forward and storm 
the house I" 

Tlie Torch and tlic Scaling liadder. 

They came rushing on, the gallant band of ran- 
gers, bearing torches in their hands — they came 
rushing on, and their path lay over the mangled 
bodies of the forlorn hope, scattered along the sod, 
in all the ghastliness of wounds and death, and at 
their backs advanced with measured step the firm 
columns of the continental army, while the air 
was heavy with the sb.riek of wounded men, and 
burdened with cries of death. 

On they swept, trampling ever the faces of the 
dead in the darkness and gloom, and then the ter- 
rible words of command rang out upon the air — 
" Advance and fire — advance and storm the 
house I" 

A volley of sheeted flame arose from the bosom 
of the fog along the lav/n, the thunder of the Ame- 
rican musquetry broke upon the air, and the balls 
were heard pattering against the walls of the 
house, and tearing splinters from the roof. 

Another moment, and the pall of mir.t and battle 
smoke is swept aside, revealing a scene that a 
thousand words might not describe — a scene 
whose hurry, and motion, and glare, and horror' 
the pencil of the artist might in vain essay to 
picture. 

There were glittering bayonets thrust from the 
windows of the hg^se, — there were fierce faces, 
with stout forms robed in crimson attire, thrust 
from every caseruent,— there were bold men wav- 
ing torches on high, rushing around the house; 
here a party were piling up combustible brush- 
wood and faggots, here a gallant band were affix- 
ing their scaling ladder to a second story window, 
yonder another gallant band were thundering 
away at the hall door, with musquet and battle 
axe; while along the whole sweep of the wide 
lawn poured the fire of the continental host, with 
a flash like lightning, yet with uncertain and in- 
effectual aim. 

The Fate of the Stormers. 

The hand of the soldier with the band gathered 
near the combustible pile under a window — the 
hand of the soldier was extended with the blazing 
torch, he was about to fire the heap of faggots, 
when his shattered arm fell to his side, and a dead 
comrade came toppling over his chest. 

A soldier near the hall door had been foremost 
among that gallant band, the barricades were torn 
away, all obstructions well nigh cleared, and he 
raised his battle axe to hew the door in fragments, 



when the axe fell with a clanging sound upon the 
threshold stone, and his comrades caught his fall- 
ing body in their arms, while his severed jaw 
hung loosely on his breast. 

The party who rushed forward in the endeavor 
to scale the window ! The ladder was fixed — 
across the trench dug around Chew's house it was 
fixed — the hands of two sturdy continentals held 
it firm, and a file of desperate men, headed by a 
stalwart backwoodsman, in rough blue shirt and 
fur cap, with buck-tail plume, began the ascent of 
death. 

The foot of the backwoodsman touched the sec- 
ond round of the scaling ladder, when he sprang 
wildly in the air, over the heads of his comrades, 
and fell dead in the narrow trench, with a death 
shriek that rang in the ears of all who heard it 
for life. A musquet ball had penetrated his skull, 
and the red torrent w^as .already streaming over 
his forehead, and along his swarthy features. 

The Americans again rushed forward to the 
house, but it was like rushing into the embrace of 
death ; again they scaled the windows, again were 
they driven back, while the dead bodies of their 
comrades littered the trench ; again they strode 
boldly up to the hall door, and again did soldier 
after soldier crimson the threshold stone with his 
blood. 

The Sound of Marching I<egions* 

And while the battle swelled fiercest, and the 
flame flashing from the windows of Chew's house 
was answered by the volley of the continental 
brigade, two sounds came sweeping along the air, 
one from the south, and the other from the north- 
west. They were the sounds of marching men — 
the tread of hurrying legions. 

On the summit of a gentle knoll, surrounded by 
the officers of his staff, Washington had watched 
the progress of the fight around Chew's mansion, 
not more than two hundred yards distant. 
Washington and his Terrihle Suspense* 

With his calm and impenetrable face, wearing 
an unmoved expression, he had seen the continen- 
tals disappear in the folds of the fog, he had seen 
file after file marching on their way of death, he 
had heard the roar of contest, the shrieks of the 
wounded and the yells of the dying had startled his 
ear, but not a muscle of his countenance moved 
not a feature trembled. 

But when those mingling sounds of marching 
men came pealing on his ear, he inclined slightly 
to one side of his steed and then to the other, as 
if in the effort to catch the slightest sound, his 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 



1^ 



lips were fixedly compressed and his eye flashed 
and flashed again, until it seemed turning to a 
thing of living flame. 

Tlie Horseman and his Message* 

The sounds grew near, and nearer! A horse- 
man approached from the direction of German- 
town, his steed was well nigh exhausted and the 
rider swayed heavily to and fro in the saddle. 
The horse came thundering up the knoll, and a 
man with a ghastly face, spotted with blood, lean- 
ed from the saddles and shrieked forth, as he pant- 
ed for breath — 

"General — they are 'in motion — they are 
marching through Germantown — Kniphausen, 
Agnew, and Grey, they will be on you in a mo- 
ment, and — Cornwallis — Cornwallis is sweeping 
from Philadelphia." 

The word had not passed his lips, when he fell 
from his steed a ghastly corpse. 

Another messenger stood by the side of Wash- 
ington — his steed was also exhausted, and his face 
was covered with dust, but not with blood. He 
panted for breath as he shrieked forth an excla- 
mation of joy: — 

"Greene is marching from the northwest — at- 
tracted by the fire in this quarter, he has deviated 
from his path, and will be with you in a mo- 
ment!" 

And as he spoke, the forms of a vast body of 
men began to move, dim and indistinctly, from 
the folds of the fog on the northwest, and then 
the glare of crimson was seen appearing from the 
bosom of the mist on the south, as a long column 
of red coated soldiers, began to break slowly on 
the vision of Washington and his men. 

Germantown Aroused by distant Tliunder. 

Turn we for a moment to Germantown. 

The first glimpse of day,flung a grey and solemn 
light over the tenements of Germantown, when 
the sound of distant thunder, aroused the startled 
inhabitants from their beds, and sent them hurri- 
edly into the street, where they crowded in small 
groups, each one asking his neighbor for the ex- 
planation of this sudden alarm, and each one in- 
dining his ear to the north, listening intently to 
those faint yet terrible sounds, thundering along 
the northern horizon. 

The crowded moments of that eventful morn, 
wore slowly on, and ere the day was yet light, 
the streets of Germantown were all in motion, 
crowds of anxious men were hurrying hither and 
thither, mothers stood on the rustic porch, gather- 



ing their babes in a closer embrace, and old men, 
risen in haste from their beds, clasped their 
withered hands and lifted tlieir eyes to heaven in 
muttered prayer, as their ears were startled by 
the sounds of omen pealing from the north. 

The Briiish leaders were yet asleep, the sol 
dieis of the camp, it is true, had risen hastily from 
their couches, and along the entire line of the 
British encampment, ran a vague yet terrible ru- 
mor of coming battle and of sudden death, yet the 
generals in command slept soundly in their beds, 
visited, it may be, with pleasant dreams of massa- 
cred rebels, fancy pictured of the night of Paoli, 
mingled with a graphic sketch of the head of 
Washington adorning one of the gates of London, 
while the grim visage of mad Anthony Wayne 
figured on another. 

TSie Message for Gsneral Grey". 

The footstep of a booted soldier rang along the 
village street, near the market-house, in the centre 
of the village, and presently a tall grenadier strode 
up the stone steps ol an ancient mansion, spoke a 
hurried word to the sentinel at the door, and then 
hastily entered the house. In a moment he stood 
beside the couch of General Grey, he roused hin* 
with a rude shake of his vigorous hands, and the 
startled Briusher sprang up as hastily in his bed 
as though he had been dieaming a dream of the 
terrible night of Paoli. 

"Your Excellency — the Rebels are upon us !"' 
cried the grenadier — "they have driven in our 
outposts, they surround us on every side — " 

"We must fight it out — away to KniphauseB— • 
away to Agnew — " 

"They are already in the field, and the men are* 
about advancing to Chew's House." 

Bat a moment elapsed, and the British generaF 
with his attire flung hastily over his person, rode 
to the head of his command, and while Knipbao^ 
sen, gay with the laurels of Brandywine, rodb' 
from rank to rank, speaking encouragement to hia' 
soldiers in his broken dialect, the British army* 
moved forward over the fields and along the" 
solitary streets of Germantown towards ChewV 
House. 

The brilliant front of the British extended in- 
a flash i tig array of crimson, over the fields, along: 
the streets, and through the wreaths of mist on* 
every side shone the glitter of bayonets, on every 
hand was heard the terrible tramp of 16,000 meiv 



ll 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWW. 



sweeping onward, toward the field of battle, their 
swords eager for American blood. 

To Clie-vr's House S 

As the column under command of General 
Agnew swept through the village street, every 
man noted the strange silence that seemed to have 
come down upon the village like a spell. The 
houses were all carefully closed, as though they 
had not been inhabited for years, the windows 
were barricaded, and the earthquake tramp of the 
vast body of soldiers was the only sound that dis- 
turbed the silence of the town. 

Not a single inhabitant was seen. Some had 
fled wildly to the fields, others had hastened with 
the strange and fearful curiosity of our nature to 
the very verge of the battle of Chew's House, and 
in the cellars of the houses gathered many a wild 
and affrighted group, mothers holding their little 
children to their breasts, old men whose eye.= were 
Vacant with enfeebled intellect asking wildly the 
cause of all this alarm, while many a fair-cheeked 
maiden turned pale with hoiror, as the thunder of 
the cannon seemed to shake the very earth. 
Tlie Liegend of General Agne^v. 
A singular legend is told in relation to General 
Agnew. Tradition states, that on that eventful 
morn, as he led the troops onward through the 
town, a singular change was noted in his appear- 
ance. His cheeks were pale as death, his com- 
pressed lip trembled with a nervous movement, and 
his eyes glared hither and thither with a strange 
wild glance. 

He turned to the aid-de-camp at his side, and 
said with a ghastly smile, that this day's work 
would be his last on earth, that this battle-field 
would be the last he should fight, that it be- 
came him to look well at the gallant array of war, 
and share in the thickest of the fight, for in war 
and in fight should his hand this day strike its last 
and dying blow. 

The Strange Old Man. 
And tradition states that as his column neared 
the Mcenisht grave-yard,* a man of strange and 
wild aspect, clad in the skins of wild beasts, with 
scarred lace and unshaven beard, came leaping 
over the grave-yard wall, and asked a soldier of 
the British column, with an idiotic smile, whether 
that gallant officer, riding at the head of the men, 



•Adjoining the dwelling of Mr. Samuel Keyser, 
about three-fourths of a mile below Chew's House. 



was the brave Genera! Grey, who had so nobly 
routed the rebels at Paolil 

The soldier replied with a peevish oath that 
yonder oflicer was General Grey, and he pointed 
to General Agnew as he spoke. 

The strange man said never a word, but smiled 
with a satisfied look, and sprang over the grave- 
yard wall, and as he sprang, a bullet whistled past 
the ear of General Agnew, and a thin column of 
blue smoke wound upward from the grave-yard 
wall. 

The General turned and smiled. His officers 
would have searched the grave-yard for the author 
of the shot, but a sound broke on their ears from 
the road above, and presently the clatter of hoofs 
and the clamor of swords came thundering through 
the mist. 

Tlie Contest in tlie Village Street. 

And in a moment the voice of Sullivan was 
heard — '^Charge — upon the Britishers — charge 
them home .'" 

And the steeds of the American cavalry came 
thundering on, sweeping down the hill with one 
wild movement, rushing into the very centre of 
the enemy's column, each trooper unhorsing his 
man, while a thousand fierce shouts mingled in 
wild chorus, and the infantry advanced with fiixed 
bayonets, speeding steadily onward until they had 
driven back their foes with the force of their solid 
charge. 

And along that solitary street of Germantown 

swelled the din and terror of battle, there grappled 

with the fierce grasp of vengeance and of death 

the columns of contending foemen, there redd 

the troopers of the opposite armies, their sword g 

mingling, their horses meeting breast to breast 

in the terrible shock of this fierce tournament; 

there shrieked the wounded and dying, while 

above the heads of the combatants waved the 

white folds of mist, mingled with the murky battle 

smoke. 

Sullivan charged bravely, Wayne came nobly 

to his rescue, Pulaski scattered confusion into 
the ranks of the enemy, and the Americans had 
been masters of the field were it not for a fresh 
disaster at Chew's House, combined with the mis- 
takes of the various bodies of the Continentals, who 
were unable to discern friend from foe in the 
density of the fog. 

Chew's House again* 
Meanwhile the contest thickened around Chew's 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWPT. 



IT 



house; the division of Greene, united willi the cen- 
tral body of the American army, were engaged 
with the left wing of the British army, under 
Kniphausen, Grant, and Grey, while Sullivan led 
forward into the town a portion of the advance 
column of his division. 

Tradition has brought down to our times a fear- 
ful accouni of the carnage and bloodshed of the 
light aroutid Chew's house at this moment, when 
the British army to the south and the Americans 
to the north, advanced in the terrible charge, under 
the cover of the mist and gloom. 

It was like fighting in the dark. The Ameri- 
cans advanced column after column, they drove 
back the British columns with a line of bristling 
bayonets, while the fire of the backwoodsmen rat- 
tled a death hail over the field ; but it was all in 
vain! That gloomy raiset hung over their heads, 
concealing their foes from sight, or investing the 
forms of their friends with a doubtful gloom, that 
caused them to be mistaken for Britishers in the 
fierce mellay; all was dim, undefined and indistinct. 
y^ TIxe Adventure of 'Washington* 

It was at this moment that a fierce resolution 
came bver the mind of Washington. All around 
hica was mist and gloom, he saw his men disap' 
pear within the fog, toward Chew's house, but he 
knew not whether their charge was greeted with 
suecess or defeat; he heard the tread of hurrying 
legions, the thunder of the cannon, the rattle of 
the musketry broke on his ear, mingled with the 
Bhrieks of the wounded and the groans of the dy- 
ing; and all the terrible panorama of a battle field, 
the smoke, the gloom and the mist, passed vividly 
before his eyes, but still he knew not the cause of 
the impregnability of Chew's house. He deter- 
mined to advance toward the bouse, and examine 
its position in person. He turned to the officers 
of his staff — « Follow me who lists !" he cried, 
and in a moment, his steed of iron grey was ca- 
reering over the sod, littered with ghastly corses, 
while the air overhead was alive with the music 
of bullets, and the earth beneath was fiung against 
the war-steed's flanks by the cannon ball. 

Followed by Hamilton, by Pickering, by 
Marshall, and by Lee, of the gallant legion, Wash- 



ington rode forward, and speeding between the 
fires of the opposing armies, approached the 
house. 

Tlie Patli Of Terror. 

The scene was awful, At each step a dead maft, 
with a ghastly face turned upward, little pools of 
blood crimsoning the lawn, torn fragments of at- 
tire scattered over the sod, on every side hurrying 
bodies of marching foemen, while, terrible and 
unremitting, the fire flashing from the windows of 
Chew's House, throws a lurid glare over the fear- 
ful scene. 

Washington dashed over the lawn, he approach* 
ed the house, and every man of his train held his 
breath. Bullets were whistling over their heads, 
cannon balls playing round their horses' feet, yet 
their leader kept on his way of terror. A single 
glance at the house, with its vollies of flame flash- 
ing from every window, and he turned to the 
north, to regain the American line?, but the fog 
and smoke gathered round him, and he found his 
horse entangled amid the enclosures of the cattle- 
pen to the north of the mansion. 

AVasliington toetween t-\vo Fires. 

'*Leap your horses" — ^cried Washington to the 
brave men around hira — " Leap your horses and 
save yourselves!" And in a moment, amid the 
mist and gloom, his officers leaped the northern 
enclosure of the cattle-pen, and rode forward to 
the American line, scarcely able to discover their 
path, in the dense gloom that gathered around 
them. They reached the American lines, and to 
their horror^ discovered that Washington was not 
among them. He had not leaped the fence of the 
cattle-pen, because with the feeling of a true ve^. 
teran^ he was afraid of injuring his gallant steed, 
by this leap in the dark. 

While the ofi^icers of the staff were speeding to 
the American line, Washington turned his steed 
to the south, he determined to repass the house, 
strike to the north east, and then facing the fires 
of both armies, regain the Continental army- 
He rose proudly in the stirrups, he placed 
his hand gently on the neck of his steed, he glanc- 
ed proudly around him, and then the noble horso 
sprang forward with a sudden leap, and the mist 
rising for a moment disclosed the form of Washrf 
ington, to the vision of the opposing armies. 



THE FALL OF THE BANNER OF THE STARS. 

"What seest thou now, Gonzales ?" 

"I look from the oriel window— I see a forest of glittering steel, rising in the light, with the snow-flakes of waving 
plumes flaunting with the sunbeams ! Our men advance— the banner of the stars is borne aloft, onward and on it 
sweeps, like a mighty bird ; and now the foemen waver, they recoil — they — " 

"They fly ! Great God— they fly !" 

"No— no !— oh, moment of ))orror!— the banner of the stars is lost!— the flag of blood-red hue rises in the light — 
the foemen advance — I dare not look upon the scene — " 

"Look again, good Gonzales — look, I beseech tliee — what seest thou now?" 

"I see a desolated field, sirewn with dead carcases and broken arms— the banner of the stars is trampled in the 
dust— all is lost, and yet not all !" 



Waslilngton In Banger. 

The form of the Chieftain rose through the 
smoke and gloom of battle, in all its magnificence 
of proportion, and majesty of bearing, as speeding 
between two opposing fires, with a proud glance 
over the battle-field, he retraced his path of death, 
and rode fearlessly toward the American army. 

He was now in front of Chew's House, he was 
passing through the very sweep of the terrible 
fires, belching from every window, the bullets 
whistled around him, and on every hand was con- 
fusion, and darkness, made more fearful by the 
glare of musquetry, and the lightning.flashof can- 
non. 

He is now in front of Chew's House ! Another 
moment and the Man of the Army may fall from 
his steed riddled by a thousand bullets, a single 
moment and his corse may be added to the heaps 
of dead piled along the lawn in all the ghastliness 
of death, another moment and the Continentale 
may be without a leader, the British without 
their most determined foe. 

His form is enrapt in mist, he is lost to sight, 
he again emerges into light, he passes the houses 
and sweeps away toward the Continental army. 

He passes the house, and as be speeds onward 
toward the American lines, a proud gleam lights 
up his eye, and a prouder smjile wreaths his de- 
termined lips. "The American army is yet safe, 
they are in the path to victory" — 'he exclaims, as 
he rejoins the officers of his staff, within the 
American lines — "Had I but intelligence of Arms- 
strong in the West — ^of Smallwood and Forman 
in the East, with one bold effort, we might carry 
the field !" 

But no intelligeuce of Smalhvood or Forman 
came — Armstrong's movements were all unknown 
— Stephens, who flanked the right wing of Greene, 
was not heard from, nor could any one give in- 
formation concerning his position. 

And as the battle draws to a crisis around Chew's 
House, as the British and Americans are disputing 
the possession of the lawn now flooded with blood, 



let me for a moment turn aside from the path of 
regular history, and notice some of the legends 
of the battle field, brought down to our times by 
the hoary survivors of the Revolution. 

The Unknown Form. 

And while the b:itl.le swelled ficcest, while the 
armies traversed that green lawn in the hurry of 
contest, along the blood-stained sward, with calm 
manner and even step, strode an unknown form, 
passing unfeariogly over the field, passing amid 
smoke and mist and gloom, while the wounded 
fell shrieking at his feet, and the faces of the dead 
met his gaze on every side. 

It was the form of an aged man, with grey hairs 
streaming over his shoulders, an aged man with 
a mild yet fearless countenance, with a tall and 
impressive figure, clad neither in the glaring dress 
of the Britisher, or the hunting-shirt of the Conti- 
nental, but in the plain attire of drab cloth, the 
simple coat, vest with wide lappels, small clothes 
and stockings, that mark the believers of the Qua- 
ker faith. 

He was a Friend. Who he was, or what was 
his name, whence he came, or whither he went, 
no one could tell, and tradition still remains si- 
lent. 

But along that field, he was seen gliding amid 
the heat and glare of battle. Shrieked the wound- 
ed soldier for a cup of water, it was his hand that 
brought it from the well, on the verge of Chew's 
wall. Extended along the sward, with their 
ghastly faces trembling with the spasmodic throe 
of insupportable pain, the dying raised themselves 
piteously on their trembling hands, and in broken 
tones asked for relief, or in the wildness of delirium 
spoke of their far-off homes, whispered a message 
to their wives or little ones, or besought the bless- 
ing of their grey-haired sires. 

The Disciple of Jcsns* 

It was the Quaker, the unknown and mysterious 
Friend who was seen unarmed save with the Faith 
of God, undefended save by the Armor of Heaven 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWlf . 



19 



kneeling- on the sod, whispering words of comfort i aside, and again came down upon the forms of the 
to the dying, and pointing with his upUfted hand Britishers like dark night. 



to a home beyond the skies, where battle nor 
wrong nor death ever came. 

Around Chew's House and over the lawn he 
sped on his message of mercy. There was fear 
and terror around him, the earth beneath his mea- 
sured footsteps trembled, and the air was heavy 
with death, but he trembled not, nor quailed, nor 
turned back from his errand of mercy. 

Now seen in the thickest of the fight, the sol- 
diers rushing on their paths of blood, started back 
as they beheld his mild and peaceful figure. Some 
deemed him a thing of air, some more superstitious, 
thought they beheld a spirit, not one offered to 
molest or harm the Messenger of Peace. 

It was a sight worth all the ages of controversial 
Divinity to see, this plain Quaker going forth with 
the faith of that Saviour, whose name has ever 
been most foully blasphemed by those who called 
themselves his friends, going forth with the faith 
of Jesus in his heart, speaking comfort to the dy- 
ing, binding up the gashes of the wounded, or yet 
again striding boldly into the fight and rescuing 
with his own unarmed hands the prostrate soldier 
from the attack of his conquering foe. 
Honor to tiie Disciple. 
Blessings on his name, the humble Quaker, for 
this deed which sanctifies humanity, and makes 
us dream of men of mortal mould raised up to the 
majesty of Gods. His name is not written down, 
his history is all unknown, but when the broad 
books of the unknown world are bared to the eyes 
of a congregated universe, then will that nanie 
shine brighter and lighten up with a holier gleam 
than the name Qf any Controversial Divine or 
loud-mouthed hireling that ever disgraced Chris- 
tianity or blasphemed the name of Jesus. 

The Scene "Withiii Chew's House. 
Within Chew's House this was the scene : 
Every room crowded with soldiers in their 
glaring crimson attire, the old hall thronged by 
armed men, all stained with blood and begrimed 
with battle smoke, the stair-way trembling beneath 
the tread of soldiers bearing ammunition to the 
upper rooms, while every board of the floor, every 
step of the stair-case bore its ghastly burden of 
dying and dead, the air was pestilent with the 
smell of powder, the walls trembled beneath the 
shock of battle, and thick volumes of smoke rolling 
from the lower rooms, wound through the doors, 
into the old hall, and up the stairway, enveloping 



all objects in a pall of gloom, that now shifted | another. 



Let us ascend the stairway. Tread carefully, 
or your foot will trample on the face of that dead 
soldier; ascend the staircase with a cautious step, 
or you will lose your way in the battie smoke. 

The house trembles to its foundation, one vol- 
ley of musquetry after another breaks on your 
ear, and all around is noise and confusion; noth- 
ing seen but armed men hurrying to and fro, 
nothing heard but the thunder of the fight. 

We gain the top of the stairway — we have 
mounted over the piles of dead — we pass along 
the entry — we enter the room on the right, facing 
toward the lawn. 

A scene of startling interest opens to our sight. 
At each window are arranged files of men, who, 
with faces all blood stained and begrimed, are 
sending their musquet shots along the lawn ; at 
each window the floor is stained with a pool ot 
blood, and the bodies of the dead are dragged 
away by the strong hands of their comrades, who 
fill their places almost as soon as they receive 
their death wound. The walls are rent by cannon 
balls, and torn by bullets, and the very air seems 
ringing with the carnival shouts of old Death, re- 
joicing in the midst of demons. 

The Drop from the Ceiling. 

Near a window in this room clustered a gallant 
band of British officers, who gave the word to the 
men, directed the dead to be taken from the floor, 
or gazed out upon the lawn in the endeavor to 
pierce the gloom of the contest. 

Some were young and handsome officers, others 
were veterans who had mowed their way through 
many a fight, and all were begrimed with the 
blood and smoke of battle. Their gaudy coats were 
rent, the epaulette was torn from one shoulder by 
the bullet, the plume from the helm of another 
and a third fell in his comrades' arms, as he re- 
ceived the ball in his heart. 

While they stood gazing from the window, a 
singular incident occurred. 

A young officer, standing in the midst of his 
comrades, felt something drop from the ceiling, 
and trickle down his cheek. 

The fight was fierce and bloody in the attic 
overhead. They could hear the cannon balls tear- 
ing shingles from the roof — they could hear the 
low, deep groans of the dying. 

Another drop fell from the ceiling — another and 



eo 



THE BATTLE-DAY OP GERMANTOWIf. 



•' It is blood !" cried his comrades, and a laugh 
went round the group. 

Is it Ijloocll 

Drop after drop fell from the celing ; and in a 
moment a thin liquid stream came trickling down, 
and paltered upon the blood-stained floor. 

The young officer reached forth his hand, he 
held it extended beni^th the falling stream : he 
Applied it to his lips. 

"Not blood, but wine!" he shouted. "Good 
old Madeira wine !" 

The group gathered round tiie young officer in 
wonder. It was wine — good old wine — that was 
dripping from the ceiling. In a few moments the 
young officer, rushing through the gloom and con- 
fusion of the stairway, had ransacked the attic, 
and discovered under the eaves of the roof, between 
the rafters and the floor, some three dozen bottles 
of old Madeira wine, placed there for safe-keeping 
some score of years before the battle. These bot- 
tles were soon drawn from their resting-place, and 
the eyes of the group in the room below were pre- 
sently astonished by the vision of the ancient bot- 
tles, all hung with cobwebs, arid with the sealed 
corks covered with du?t. 

In a moment the necks were struck off" some 
half-dozen bottles, and while the fire poured from 
the window along the lawn, while cries, and 
shrieks, and groans, broke on the air; while the 
smoke came rolling in the window, nov/ in folds 
of midnight blackness, and now turned to lurjd 
red by the glare of cannon; while the terror and 
gloom of battle arose around them, the group of 
officers poured the wine in an ancient goblet, dis- 
covered in a closet of the mansion, — they filled it 
brimming full with wine, and drank a royal health 
to the good King George ! 

The Delbaucli of Deatb. 

They drank and drank again, until their eyes 
sparkled, and their lips grew wild with loyal 
words, and their thirst tor blood-^-the blood of the 
rebels — was ej^cited to madness. Again and again 
were the soldiers shot down at the window, again 
were their places filled, and again and again the 
goblet went round from lip to lip, and ihe old 
wine was poured forth like water, in healths to 
the good King George I 

And as they drank, one by one, the soldiers 
were swept away from the windows, until at the 
last the officers stood exposed to the blaze of the 
American fire, flashing from the green lawn. 

"Health to King George — Death to the rebels!" 



The shout arose from the lips of a grey -haired 
veteran, and he fell to the floor, a mangled corse. 
The arm that raised the goblet was shattered at 
the elbow by one musket ball, as another penetrat. 
ed his brain, 

The goblet was seized by another hand, and the 
revel grew loud and wild. The sparkling wine 
was poured forth like water, healths were drank, 
hurrahs were shouted, and — another officer mea- 
sured his length on the floor. He had received 
his ball of death. 

There was something of ludicrous horror in the 
scene. 

Those sounds of revel and bacchanalian uproar, 
breaking on the air, amid the intervals — the short 
and terrible intervals of battle— .those faces flushed 
by wine, and agitated by all the madness of the 
moment, turned from one side to another, each lip 
wearing a ghastly smile, each eye glaring from its 
socket, while each voice echoed the drunken shout 
and the fierce hurrah. 

Another officer fell wounded, and another, and 
yet another. The young officer who had first dis, 
covered the wme alone remained. 

He glanced round upon his wounded and dying 
comrades, he looked vacantly in the faces of the 
dead, he gazed around upon the terror and contu* 
sion of the scene, and then he seized the goblet, 
filled it brimming-full with wine, and raised it to 
his lips. 

His lip touched the edge of the goblet, his face 
was reflected in tiie quivering wavelets of the 
Vt'ine, his eyes rolled Vi^ildly to and fro, and then 
a musket shot pealed through the window. The 
officer glared around with a terrible glance, and 
then the warm blood, spouting from the wound 
between his eyebrows, fell drop by drop into the 
goblet, and mingled with the wavelets of the ruby 
wine. 

And then there was a wild shout, and a heavy 

body toppled to the floor; and so ended the de- 

bauch of death. 

Tlie ]>Iovemeuts of Smallveood) Formanj 
and. Armstrong* 

Let us for a moment notice the movements of 
the divisions of Washington's army, and then rcr 
turn to the principal battle ground at Chew's 
house. 

The movements of the divisions of Smallwood 
and Forman are, to this day, enveloped in mys- 
tery. They came in view of the enemy, but the 
density of the mist prevented them from effectual- 
ly engaging with the British. 



tHB BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWIV. 



21 



Armstrong came marching down the Mana- 
tawny road, until the quiet VVissahikon dawn- 
ed in the eyes of his men ; but after this mo- 
ment, his march is also enwrapt in mystery. — 
Sume reports say that he actually engaged with 
the Hessian division of the enemy, others state 
that the alarm of the Americans retreating from 
Chew's house reached his ear, as the vanguard of 
his command entered Germantown, near the mar- 
ket-house, and commenced firing upon the chas- 
seurs who flanked the left wing of the British 
army. 

However this may be, yet tradition has brought 
down to our times a terrible legend connected with 
the retreat of Armstrong's division. The theatre 
of this legend was the quiet VVissahikon, and this 
is the story of ancient tradition. 

Tlie Wissaliilcon. 

It is a poem of everlasting beauty and a dream 
«f magnificence — the world-hidden, wood-embow- 
ered Wissahikon. Its pure waters break forever 
in ripples of silver around the base of colossal 
rocks, or sweep murmuringly on, over beds of peb- 
bled flints, or spread into calm and mirror-Iike 
lakes, with^hores of verdure, surmounted by green. 
hills, rolling away in waves of forest trees, or 
spreading quietly in the fierce light of the summer 
sun, with the tired cattle grouped beneath the lofty 
eaks. 

It is a poem of beauty — where the breeze 
mourns its requiem through the tall pines; where 
the silver waters send up their voices of joy; where 
calmness, and quiet, and intense solitude awe the 
soul, and fill the heart with bright thoughts and 
golden dreams, woven in the luxury of the sum- 
mer hour. 

From the moment your eyes first drink in the 
gladness of its waters, as they pour into the 
Schuylkill, seven miles from Philadelphia, until 
yeu behold it winding its thread of silver along 
the meadows of Whitemarsh, many miles above, 
it is all beauty, all dream, all magnificence. 

It breaks on your eye, pouring into the Schuyl- 
kill, a calm lake, with an ancient and picturesque 
mill* in the foreground; a calm lake, buried in the 
depths of towering steeps, that rise almost perpen- 
dicularly on either side, casting a shadow of gloom 
over the water, while each steep is green with 
brushwood, each rocky cleft magnificent with the 
towering oak, the sombre pine, or the leafy ches- 
nut. 



* Formerly Vanduring's, now Robinson's mill. 



This glen is passed; then come quiet hilly shores, 
sloping away to the south in pleasant undulations, 
while on the north arise frowning steeps, and then 
your mind is awed by tremendous hills on either 
side, creating one immense solitude; rugged steeps 
— all precipice and perpendicular rock — covered 
and crowded with giant pines, and then come calm 
and rippleless lakes, shadowy glens, deep ravines 
and twilight dells of strange and dreamy beauty. 

Tliere is, in sooth, a stamp of strange and dreamy 
beauty impressed upon every ripple of the Wissa- 
hikon, every grassy bank extending greenly along 
its waters, on every forest-tree towering beside its 
shores. 

On the calm summer's day, when the sun is de- 
clining in the broad west, you may look from the 
heightof some grey, rugged steep, down upon the 
depths of the world-hidden waters. Wild legends 
wander across your fancy as you gaze; every scene 
around you seems but the fitting location for a wild 
and dreamy tradition, every rock bears its old time 
story, every nook of the wild wood has its tale of 
the ancient days. The waters, deep, calm, and 
well-like, buried amidst overhanging hills, have a 
a strange and mysterious clearness. The long 
shadows of the hills, broken by golden belts of 
sunshine, clothe the waters in sable and gold, in 
glitter and in shadow. All around is quiet and 
stili; silence seems to have assumed a positive ex- 
istence amid these vallies of romance and of 
dreams. 

Tlie liouely Hoiise of the Wissabikon* 

It was along the borders of this quiet stream, 
that an ancient fabric arose, towering through the 
verdure of the trees, with its tottering chimneys 
enveloped in folds of mist. The walls were severed 
by many a fissure, the windows were crumbling 
to decay, and the halls of the ancient mansion 
were silent as the tomb. 

It was wearing toward noon, when a body of 
soldiers, wearing the blue hunting-shirt and fur 
cap with bucktail plume, came rushing from the 
woods on the opposite side of the rivulet, came 
rushing through the waters of the lovely stream, 
and hurried with hasty steps toward the deserted 
house. 

In a moment they had entered its tottering 
doorway, and disappeared within its aged walls. 
Another instant, and a body of soldiers broke from 
the woods on the opposite side of the stream, clad 
in the Hessian costume, with ponderous bearskin 
caps, heavy accoutrements, and massive muskets. 

They crossed the stream, and rushed into the 



2^ 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWJf» 



house in pursuit of the flying continentals. They 
searched the rooms on tlie first floor; they hurried 



Another moment! And along that green wood 
rang a feariul sound, louder and more terrible than 



along the tottering timbers, but not a single Conti- thunder, shaking the very earth with an earth 



nental was to be seen. They rushed up the crumbl- 
ing stairway with loud shouts and bois-terous oaths, 
and reached the rooms of the second story. Every 
door was flung hastily aside, every closet was bro- 
ken open, the boards were oven torn from the 
floor, every nook was searched, every corner ran- 
sacked, and yet no vision of a blue shifted back- 
woodsman, met the eye of the eager Hessians. All 
was silent as death. Their own footfalls were re- 
turned in a thousand echoes, their own shouts 
alone disturbed the silence of the bouse, but no 
sound nor sight, could be obtained of the fleeing 
Continentals. Every room was now searched, 
save the garret, and the Hessians, some twenty 
men, able bodied and sloui, were about rushing 
up the stairway of the attic in pursuit of the ten 
Continental soldiers, when the attention of one of 
their number was arrested by a singular specta- 
cle. The Hessian soldier beheld through a 
crumbling window frame, the figure of a woman, 
standing on the height of an abrupt steep, over- 
hanging the opposite side of the stream. She 
waved her hands to the soldier, siiouted and wiiv- 
ed her hands again. He heeded her not, but rush- 
ed up the stairway after his companions. 

The shout of that unknown woman was the 
warning of death. 

While the Hessians were busily engaged in 
searching the attic, while their shouts and execra- 
tions awoke the echoes of the roof, while they 
were thrusting sword and bayonet into the dark 
corners of the apartment, that shout of the woman 
on the rock arose, echoing over the stream again 
.^nd again. 

The Hessians rushed to the window, they sud- 
denly remembered that they had neglected to 
jsearch the cellar, and looking far below, they be- 
ixeld thin wreaths of light blue smoke, Vt^inding 
jupward from the cellar window. 

A fearful suspicion crept over the minds of the 
soldiers. 

Thay rushed from the attic, in a moment they 
might reach the lower floor and escape. With 
that feeling of strange terror creeping round each 
heart and paling every face they rushed tremblingly 
jon, they gained the second floor, their footsteps al- 
ready resounded along the stairway when the floor 
trembled beneath their feet, a horrid combination 
.of sounds assailed their ears, and the walls rocked 
to and fro like a drunken bacchanal. 



quake motion, while the fragments of the ancient 
fabric arose blackening into the heavens, mingled 
with human bodies, torn and scattered into innu- 
merable pieces, and the air was filled with a dense 
smoke, that hung over the forest, in one thick and 
blackening pall. 

In a few moments the scene was clear, but the 
ancient house had disappeared as if by magic, 
while the shouts of the Continental soldiers were 
heard in the woods far beyond the scene. 

The house had been used by the British as a 
temporary depot of powder. When the American 
Continentals rushed into the cellar, they beheld 
the kegs standing in one corner, they piled up 
combustible matter in its vicinity and then made 
their escape from the house by a subterranean 
passage known only to themselves. They emerg- 
ed into open air some hundred yards beyond, and 
beheld the result of this signal vengeance on their 

foes. 

The Crisis of the Fight, 

Again we return to the field of Chew's House. 

Washington determined to make offe last and 
desperate effort. The Corps de Reserve under 
Stirling, and Maxwell, and Nash, came thunder- 
ing along the field; each swQrd unsheathed, every 
bayonet firm; every man eagfcr and ready for the 
encounter. 

It was now near 9 o'clock in the morning. — 
The enemy still retained Chew's House. The di- 
vision under Greene, the main body commanded 
by Wayne, by Sullivan and Conway, composed 
the American force engaged in actual contest. — 
To this force was now added the Corps de Reserve, 
under Lord Stirling, Generals Maxwell and Nash. 

The British force, under command of General 
Howe, who had arrived on the field soon after the 
onslaught at Chew's House, were led to battle by 
Kniphausen, Agnew, Grant and Grey, who now 
rode from troop to troop, from rank to rank, hur- 
rying the men around toward the main point of 
the fight. 

There was a pause in the horror of the battle. 

The Americans rested on their arms, the troop- 
ers reined in their steeds in sight of Chew's House, 
and amid the bodies of the dead. The Conti- 
nental ranks were terribly thinned by the desola- 
ting fire from the house, every file was diminished, 
and in some instances, whole companies were 
swept away. The British were fresh in vigor. 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMA^TOWN. 



23 



and ably armed and equipped. They impatiently ' 
rushed forward, eager to steep their arms elbow 
deep in American blood. 

And amid the folds of mist and battle-smoke, 
while the whole field resembled some fearful phan- 
tasmagoria of fancy, with its shadowy figures flit- 
ting to and fro, while the echo of the cannon, the 
rattle of the musketry, and the shrieks of the 
wounded yet rung on the soldiers' ears, they eager- 
ly awaited the signal for the re-commencement of 
the fight. 

^Tbe Signal of tile last Fight* 

The signal rang along the lines ! In an instant 
the cannons opened their fire on Chew's house, the 
troopers came thundering on in their hurricane 
charge, and all around were charging legions, arm- 
ed bodies of men hurrying toward the house, heaps 
of the wounded strown over the sod; while that 
terrible cry which had for three long hours gone 
shrieking up to heaven from that lawn, now rose 
above the tumult of battle — the quick, piercing cry 
of the strong man, smitten suddenly down by his 
death-wound. 

The American soldiers fought like men who 
fight for everything that man needs for sustenance, 
or holds dear in honor, or sacred in religion. Step 
by step the veteran continentals drove the British- 
ers over the field, trampling over the faces of their 
dead comrades in the very action; step by step 
were they driven back in their turn, musquets 
were clubbed in the madness of the strife, and the 
cry for " quarter," fell on deafened ears. 

Then it was that the chieftains of the American 
host displayed aots of preternatural daring and 
superhuman courage ! 

Tlie ■Warrior-Drover. 

In the thickest of the fight, where swords flash- 
ed most fiercely, where death-groans shrieked most 
terribly*upon the air, where the steeds of contend;, 
ing squadrons rushed madly against each other in 
the wild encounter of the charge, there might you 
see mad Anthony Wayne : his imposing form tow- 
ering over the heads of the combatants, his eye 
blazing with excitement, and his sword, all red 
with blood, rising and falling like a mighty ham- 
mer in the hands of a giant blacksmith. 

How gallantly the warrior-drover rides ! How 
keen is the glance of his eye, how unfearing the 
waving of his sword, as foe after foe fall shrieking 
from their steeds ! On and on, without fear, with- 
out a thought save his country's honor and the 
vengeance of Paoli — on and on be rides, and as' 



he speeds, his shout rings out clear and lustily 
upon the air — 

"On, comrades, on — and Remtmber Paoli ."' 

^'■ForwarU, hriidcrn, forioarts .'" 

Ha! The gallant Pulaski ! How like a king he 
rides at the head of his unfearing band, how firm" 
ly he sits in his stirrups, how gallantly he beckons 
his men onward, how like a sunbeam playing on 
glittering ice, his sword flits to and fro, along the 
darkened air I 

Like one solid battle-bolt, his gallant band speed 
onward, carrying terror and confusion into the 
very centre of Kniphausen's columns, leaving a 
line of ghastly dead in their rear, and driving the 
discomfilted Hessians before them, while the well-* 
known battle-shout of Pulaski halloos these war- 
hounds on to the slaughter. 

" Forwarts — brudern — forwarts !" 

And there he rides, known to all the men as 
their commander, seen by every eye in the inter- 
vals of the battle-smoke, hailed by a thousand 
voices; in wild excitement and in terrible anxiety 
he rides, cheering the soldiers with his deep-toned 
voice, v/hile his eye is fixed upon the varied aspects 
of the fight. 

A calm and mild-faced man, leading on a column 
of Continentals rides up to his side, and is pushing 
forward into the terror of the mist-hidden mellay 
when the voice of Washington rings in his ear— rr 

"Greene — why is Stephens not here ? Why 
does he delay his division ?" 

"General, we have no intelligence of his move- 
ments. He has not yet appeared upon the field — '*' 

Washington's lip quivered. A thousand worlds 
seemed pent up in his heart, and for once in 
his entire life, his agitation was visible and appa- 
rent. 

He raised his clenched hand on high and as Na- 
poleon cursed Grouchy at Waterloo, in after times, 
so Washington at Germantown cursed Stephens, 
from his very heart of heartrs. The glittering game 
of battle was being played around him. Stephens 
alone was wanting to strike terror into the ranks 
of the enemy around Chew's House, the crisis had 
come and — Stephens was not there, one of the 
most important divisions of the army was useless. 

And now the gallant Stirling, the brave Nash,, 
and the laurelled Maxwell, came riding on, at the 
hcatl of the corps de reserve, every man with his 
sword and bayonet, yet unstained with blood, ea- 
ger to join the current of the fight. 

Nash — the brave General of the North Carolina 



fu 



THE BATTLE-t>AV OP GERMANtOWltf. 



Division, was rushing into the midst of the rncllay 
with his men, leading them on to deeds of courage 
and renown, when he received his death wound 
and fell insensible in the arms of one of his aids- 
dC'Camp. 

The Shroud of Death, again. 

The mist gathering thicker and denser over the 
battle field, caused a terrible mistake on the part 
of the American divisions. They charged against 
their own friends, shot down their own comrades, 
and even bayonetted the very soldiers who had 
shared their mess^ ere they discovered the fatal 
mistake. The mist and baltle-smoke rendered all 
objects dim and indistinct — =the event of this bat- 
tle will show, that it was no vain fancy of the 
author, which induced him to name this mist of 
Germantown — the Shroud of Death. It proved a 
shroud of death, in good sooth, for hundreds 
who laid down their lives on the sod of the battle 
field. 

The gallant Colonel Matthews, at the head of a 
Virginia regiment, penetrated into the centre ol 
the town, driving the British before him at plea- 
sure, and after this glorious effort, he was return- 
ing to the American lines with some 300 prison- 
ers, when he encountered a body of troops in the 
mist, whom he supposed to be Continentals. He 
rode unfearingly into their midst, and found him* 
self a prisoner in the heart of the British army! 
The mist had foiled his gallant effort, himself 
and his men were captives to the fortune of v/ar, 
and his prisoners were recaptured. 

That Terrible Word. 

Now it was that Washington beheld his soldiers 
shrink and give way on every side! On every hand 
they began to waver, from line to line, from co- 
lumn to column ran terrible rumors of the ap- 
proach ofCornwallis, with a reinforcement of Grc- 
nadiers, and the American soldiers were struck 
with despair. 

They had fought while there was hope, they 
had paved their way to victory with heaps of 
ghastly dead, they had fought against superior 
discipline, superior force, superior fortune, but the 
fearful mist, that overhung the battle field, blast- 
ed all their hopes, and along the American co- 
lumns rang one fearful word, that struck like a 
knell of death on the heart of Washington — " le. 
treat" — " retreat !" 



Washiugtou veils liis Face in his Hands* 

It was all in vain that the American chiefiain 
threw himself in the way of the retreating ranks 
and besought them to stand firm — for the sake of 
their honor, for the sake of their country, for the 
sake of their God. 

It was all in vain! In vain was it that Pulaski 
threw his troopers in the path chosen by the fugi- 
tives; in vain did he wave his sword on high, and 
beseech them in his broken dialect, with a flushed 
cheek and a maddening eye, implore thi m, to turn 
and face the well-nigh conquered foe! It was in 
vain! 

In vain did Mad Anthony Wayne, the hero of 
Pennsylvania, ride from rank to rank, and with 
his towering form raised to its full height, hold 
his hand aloft, and in the familiar tones of bro-' 
therly intimacy, beckon the soldiers once again 
to the field of battle. 

All was in vain! 

And while Chew's house still belched forth its 
fires of death, while all through Germantown were 
marching men, hot-foot from Philadelphia, while 
over the fatal lawn rushed hurried bands of the 
Continentals, seeking for theii comrades among 
the dead, Washington gazed to the north and be- 
held the columns of Continentals, their array all 
thinned and scattered, their numbers diminished, 
taking their way along the [northern road, calmly 
it is true, and in remarkable order, but stilt in> the 
order of a retreat, though the enemy showed no 
disposition to annoy or pursue them. 

And while his heart swelled to bursting, and 
his lip was pressed between his teeth in anguish, 
Washington bowed his head to the mane of his 
gallant "grej" and veiled his face in his hands, and 
then his muscular chest throbbed as though a 
mighty tempest were pent up within its confines. 

In a moment he raised his face. All was calm 
and immoveable, all traces of emotion had passed 
away from the stern and commanding features, hke 
the waves rolling from the rock. 

He whispered a few brief words to his aids-de- 
camp, and then raising his form proudly in the 
stirrups, he rode along the Continental columns^ 
while with a confused and half-suppressed murmur- 
ing sound, the Retreat op Germantown com-*' 
menced. 



I^atrt tljr JFiftlv. 



THE LAST SHOT OF THE BATTLE. 

Iiook foriJi upon the scene of fij^ht, Gonzales." 

" The moon is up in llie heavens— lier beams glimmer on the cold faces of the dead. Over dead carcase ami 
over fallen hanner, in the midst of the lawn, arises one fell and ghastly form, towering in the moonbeams '• 

"The form, Gonzales ?" 

" It is the form of Doath, brooding and clmckling over the carnage of the field ; he shakes his arms of bone aloft, 
his skeleton hands wave in the moonlight, he holds high festival over the bodies of the dead. " 



How Goes the Fight 1 

A pause in the din of battle I 

Ttie denizens of Mount Airy and Chesnut Hill 
came crowding to their doors and windows, the 
hilly streets were occupied by anxious groups of 
people, who conversed in low and whispered tones, 
with hurried gestures and looks of surprise and 
fear. Yonder group who stand clustered in tiie 
roadside ! 

A grey-haired man with his car inclined intent- 
ly toward Germantown, his hands outspread, and 
his trembling form bent with age. The maiden, 
fair-cheeked, red-lipped, and blooming, clad in the 
peasant-costume, the tight boddice, the linsey 
skirt, the light 'kerchief thrown over the bosom. 
Her ear is also inclined toward Germantown, and 
her small hands are involuntarily crossed over her 
bosom that heaves and throbs into view. 

The matron, calm, self-possessed, and placid, 
little children clinging to the skirt of her dress, 
her wifely cap flung carelessly on her head, with 
hair slightly touched with grey, while the sleeping 
babe nestles in her bosom. I 

The boy, with tiie light flaxen hair, the ruddy 
cheeks, llic merry blue eye! He stands silent 
and motionless — he also listens ! 

You stand upon the height of Mount Airy, 
it is wearing towards noon, yet gaze around 
you. 

Above the mist is rising. Here and there an 
occasional sun-gleam lights the rolling clouds of 
mist, but the atmosphere wears a dull leaden hue, 
and the vast hori^on u look of solemnity and 
gloom. 

Beneath and around sweep field and plain, buck- 
wheat field, and sombre woods, luxuriant orchards 
and fertile vallics, all seen in the intervals of the 
white columns of the uprising mist. 

The group clustered along the roadside of Mount 
Airy arc still and silent. Each heart is full, 
every ear absorbed in the cflurt ui culcJnng the 
blighlest sound from Germualov^n. 
Tlic Stiaiisc Sileuce iu the Midst of Battle. 

There IS a strange silence upon tiie air. A 
moment ago and Ikr-off shouts broke on the ear, 
mingled with the thunder of cannon and the 
4 



shrieks of musquelry, the earth seemed to tremble, 
and far around the wide horizon was agitated by a 
thousand echoes. 

Now the scene is still as midnight. Not a 
sound, not a shout, not a distant hurrahs The 
anxiety of the group upon the hill becomes absorb- 
ing and painful. Looks of wonder at the sudden 
pause in the battle flit from face to face, and then 
low whispers are heard, and then comes another 
moment of fearful suspense. 

It is followed by a wild rushing sound to the 
south, like the shrieks of the oce.-.n waves, as they 
fill the hold of the foundering ship, while it sinks 
far in the loneliness of the seas. 

Then a pause, and again that unknown sound, 
and then the tramp of ten thousand footsteps 
mingled with a wild and indistinct murmur.— 
Tramp, Iranip, tramp, the air is filled with the 
sound, and then distinct voices break upon the 
air, and the clatter is borne on the breeze. 
Tiic Soldiei' aiicl His Burden- 
The boy turns to his mother, and asks her who 
has gained the day? Every heart feels vividly 
that the battle is now over, that the account of 
blood is near its close, that the at)peal to the God 
of battles has been made. 

The mother turns her tearful eyes to the south 
— she cannot answer the question. The old man, 
awaking from a reverie, turns suddenly to the 
maiden, and clasps her arm witli his trembling 
hands. His lips move, but his tongue is'unable to 
syllable a sound. His suspense is fearful. He 
flin.-Ts a trembling hand southward, and speaks his 
question with the gesture of age. 

The battle, the battle, how goes the battle ? 
And as he makes the gct-turc, the figure of a 
soldier is seen rushing from the mist in the valley 
below, he comes speeding round the bend of the 
road, he ascends the hill, but his steps totter, 
and he staggers to and fro like a drunken man. 

He bears a burden on his shoulders- — is it the 
pluniler of the fighl, is it spoil gathered from the 
ranks of the dead ? 

No — no. He bears an aged man on his shoul- 
ders, he grasps the aged form with his trembling- 
arms, and with an unsteady step ncars the group 
on the hill-top. 



26 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF (3ERMANT0WN. 



The old man's grey hairs are waving in the 
oreeze, and his extended hand grasps a broken 
bayonet, which he raises on high with a maniac 
gesture. 

The soldier and the veteran he bears upon his 
shoulders, are clad in the blue hunting shirt, torn 
and tattered and stained with blood, it is true, but 
still you can recognize the uniform of the Revolu- 
tion. 

The tottering soldier nenrs the group, he lays 
the aged veteran down by the roadside, and then 
looks around with a ghastly face and a rolhng eye. 
There is blood dripping from his attire, his face is 
begrimed with powder, and spotted with crimson 
drops. He glances wildly around, and then kneel- 
ing on the sod he takes tlie hands of the aged man 
in his own, and raises his head upon his knee. 

The battle, the battle, how goes the battle ? 

The group cluster round as they shriek the 
question. 

The young Continental makes no reply, but 
gazing upon the face of the dying veteran, wipes 
the beaded drops of blood from his forehead. 
" Wii>c tlic blood from my eycsj cojin*atle» " 

"Comrade," shrieks the veteran, "raise tne (jn 
my feet, and wipe the blood from my eyes. 1 
would see him once again !" 

He is raised upon his feet, the blood is wiped 
from his eyes. 

" I see — I see — it is he — it is Washington ! 
Yonder — yonder — I see his sword — and Antony 
Wayne, — raise me higher, comrade, — all is getting 
dark — I would see — Mad Antony !" 

Did you ever see a picture that made your heart 
throb and your eyes grow blind with tears ? 

Here is one. 

The roadside, the group clustered in front of 
Allen's House, which rises massive and solemn in 
the background. The young soldier, all weak and 
trembling from loss of blood, raising the grey-hair- 
ed veteran in his arms, placing his face toward 
Germantown, while the wrinkled features light up 
with a sudden gleam, and waving his broken bayo- 
net before his eyes, he looks toward the sence of 
the late fight. 

The bystanders, spectators of this scene. The 
matron gazing anxiously upon the old man's face, 
her eyes swimming in tears, the ruddy-cheeked boy 
holding one hand of the dying veteran, the youth- 
ful maiden, all blossom and innocence, standing 
slightly apart, with the ancient man in peasant's 
ultire, gazing vacantly around as he grasps her 
arm. 



" Lift me, comrade — higher, higher — I see him 
I see Mad An«ony ! Wipe the blood from my 
eyes, comrade, for it darkens my sight— rit is dark, 
it is dark I" 

And the young soldier held in his arms a life- 
less corse. The old veteran was dead. He had 
fought his last fight, fired his last shot, shouted 
the name of Mad Antony for the last time, and 
yet his withered liand clenched, with the tightness 
of death, tlie broken bayonet. 

The battle, the battle, how goes the battle ? 

As the thrilhng question again rung in his ears 
the young Continental turned to the group, smiled 
ghaslily and then flung his wounded arm to the 
south. 

" Lost /" he shrieked, and rushed on his way 
like one bereft of his senses. He had not gone 
ten steps, when he bit the dust of the roadside, and 
lay extended in the face of day a lifeless corse. 

The eyes of the group were now fixed upon the 
valley below. 

TIic Terror of tlic Retreat. 

Tramp, tramp, echoed the sound of hoofs, and 
then a steed, ca[)arisoned in battle array, came 
sweeping up the hill, with his wounded rider 
hanging helpless and faint by the saddle-bow. — 
Then came another steed, speeding up the hilU 
with bloodshot eye and quivering nostril, while 
his rider fell dying to the earth, shouting his wild 
hurrah as he fell. 

Then came baggage wagons, then bodies of 
flying troops in continental attire turned the bend 
of the road in the valley below, and like a flash the 
hillside of Mount Airy was all alive with disorder- 
ed masses of armed men, rushing onward with 
hurried steps and broken arms. 

Another moment! The whole array of the 
continental army comes sweeping round the bend 
of the road, file after file, rank after rank, and now» 
a column breaks into sight. 

iMonc the whole column, no vision meets the 
eyes of the group, but the spectacle of broken arms, 
tarnished array, men v^'caried with toil and thirst» 
fainting with wounds, and tottering with the loss 
of blood. 

On and on, along the ascent of the hill they 
rush, some looking hastily around with their pallid 
fiCCs stained with blood, some holding their shat- 
tered arms high over head, others aiding their 
wounded comrades as they hurry on in the cur- 
rent of the retreat, while waving in the air, the 
blue banner of the continental host, with its arrav 



TUB BATTLE-DAY OF GERMAN TOW FT 



27 



of thirteen stars, droops heavily Irom the flag- 
staff, as its torn folds come sweeping into light. 

And from file to file, with a wild movement and 
a reckless air, rode a tall and muscular soldier clad 
in the uniform of a general officer, his sword wa- 
ving aloft and his voice heard above the hurry and 
confusion of the retreat — 

" Turn, comrades, turn and face the Britisher — 
turn, and the day is ours !" 

Mad Antony cried in vain ! The panic had gone 
like a lightning flash through the army, and every 
man hurried on, without a thought save the 
thought of retreat, without a motive save the es- 
cape from the fatal field of Chew's House. 

Pulaski) Siillivanj and Greene 

Then came Pulaski and his veterans, tlicir cos- 
tumes of white extending along the road, in glaring 
relief against the background of blue-shirlcd con- 
tinentals; then came the columns of Sullivan, the 
division of Greene, and then huddled together in 
a confused crowd came the disordered bands of 
the army, who iiad broken their ranks, and were 
marching beside the baggage wains loaded to the 
very sides v/ith wounded and dying. 

Tlic Train of Deatli-Cars. 

It was a sad and ghastly spectacle to see that 
train of death-cars, rolling heavily on, with the 
carcases of the wounded hanging over their sides, 
with broken arms and limbs protruding from their 
confines, with pallid faces upturned to the sky, 
while amid the hurry and motion of the retreat,, 
piteous moans, fierce cries, and convulsive death- 
shrieks broke terribly on the air. 

Yon gallant oSicer leaning from his steed, yon 
gallant officer, with the bared forehead, the dis- 
ordered dress, the ruffle spotted with blood, the 
coat torn by sword thrusts, and dripping with the 
crimson current flowing from the heart, while an 
aid-dcrcamp riding by his side supports his faint- 
ing form on his steed, urging the noble animal 
for«vard in the path of the retreat. 

It is the brave General Nash. He has fought 
his last fight, led his gallant North Carolinians on 
to the field for the last time, his heart is fluttering 
with the trembling pulsation of death, and his eyes 
swimnung in the dimness of coming dissolution. 

The Last Look at the Field. 

In the rear, casting fierce glances toward Ger- 
manlown, rides the tall form of Wasliington, with 
Pickering and Ilainillon and Marshall cluslcring 
round their chieftain, while the sound of the re- 



treating legions is heard far in the distance, along 
the heights of Chesnut Hill. 

Washington reaches the summit of Mount Airy, 
he beholds his gallant though unfortunate army 
sweeping far ahead, he reins his steed for a mo- 
ment on the height of the mount and looks 
toward the field of Germantown I 

One long look toward the scene of the hard 
fought fight, one quick and fearful memory of the 
unburied dead, one half-sraothered exclamation of 
anguish, and the chieftain's steed springs forward, 
and thus progresses the retreat of Germantown. 

Germantown Again ! 

In the town the scene is wild and varied. The 
mist has not yet arisen, the startled inhabitants 
have not crept from their places of concealment, 
and through the village ride scattered bands and 
regiments of the British army. Here a party of 
gaudily-clad German troopers of Walbeck break 
on your eye, yonder the solemn and ponderous 
Hessian in his heavy accoutrements crosses your 
path, here a company of plaid-kilted Highlanders 
came marching on, with claymore and bag-pipe, 
and yonder, far in the distance sweep the troopers 
of Anspack, in their costume of midnight dark- 
ness, relieved by ornaments of gold, with the skull 
and cross-bones engraven on each sable cap. 

Tlie Brave Captain Lee. 

In the centre of the village extended a level 
piece of ground, surrounded by dwelling houses, 
stretching from the eastern side of the road, with 
the market-house, a massive and picturesque struc- 
ture, arising on one side, while the German Re- 
formed Church, with its venerable front and stee- 
ple, arose on the other. 

The gallant Captain Lee, of the'Partizan Ran- 
gers, had penetrated thus far into the town, in 
common with many other companies of the army, 
but soon all others retreated, and he was leftalona 
in the heart of the British army, while the conti- 
nentals were retreating over Mount Airy and 
Chesnut Hill. 

Lee had pursued a Hanoverian troop as far as 
the market-house, when he suddenly perceived the 
red-coated soldiers of Cornwallis breaking from 
the gloom of the mist on the south, while a body 
of troopers came rushing from the school-house 
lane on one side, and another corps came thunder- 
ing from the church lane on the opposite side. 

Lee was surrounded. The sable-coated troopers 
whom he had been pursuing, now turned on their 
pursucrs,an(l escape accnicd impossible. The brave 



28 



THE CATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWrf 



Partizan turned to his men. Each swarthy face 
gleamed with delight — each sunburnt hand flung 
aloft the battle-dented sword. The confusion and 
havoc of the day had left the Partizan but forty 
troopers, but every manly form was marked by 
wide shoulders^ muscular chest, and lofty bearing; 
and their uniform of green, their caps of fur, with 
buck-tail plume, gave a striking and effective ap- 
pearance to the band. 

" Comrades, now for a chase !" shouted Lee, 
glancing gaily over his men. " Let us give these 
seare-crow hirelings a chase! Up the Germantown 
road, advance, boys — forward !" 
Tlxe Cliasce 
And as they galloped along the Germantown 
road, riding gallantly four abreast, in all a war- 
rior's port and pride, the Hanoverians, novv two 
hundred strong, came thundering in their rear, 
each dark-coated trooper leaning over the neck of 
his steed, with sword upraised, and with fierce 
battle-shout echoing from lip to lip. 

Only twenty paces lay between the Rangers and 
their foes. The monotonous sound of the patter- 
ing hoof, tiie clank of the scabbard against the 
soldier's booted leg, the deep, hard brealliing of 
the horses, urged by boot and spur to their utmost 
speed, the fierce looks of the Hanoverians, tlieir 
bending figures, their dress of deep black, with re- 
lief of gold, the ponderous caps, ornamented with 
ihc fearful insignia of skull and cross-bone, the 
Rangers sweeping gallantly in front, square, and 
compact in their solid column, eacli manly form 
in costume of green and gold, disclosed in the 
light, in all its muscular ability and imposing pro- 
portions, as lliey moved forward with the same 
quick impulse, all combined, form a scene of 
strange and varying interest, peculiar to those 
times of Revolutionary peril and bloodshed. 

The chase b>;eame exciting. The advance 
company of sabic coaled troopers gained on Lee's 
gallant band at every step, and at every step they 
left their comrades further in the rear. 

Lee's men spurred their steeds merrily forward 
ringing their l)oisterous shouts tauntingly upon 
the air, while their exasperated foes replied with 
curses and execrations. 

And all along through the streets of German- 
town lay the scene of tiiis exciting chase, the clat- 
ter of the horses' hoofs awake the echoes of the an- 
cient house, bringing the frightened denizens sud- 
denly to the doors and windows, and the pursuers 
and pursued began to near the hill of the Mcnno- 



nist grave-yard, while the peril of Lee became 
more imminent and apparent. The Hanoverians 
were at the horses' heels of the Rangers — they 
were gaining upim them at every step; in a mo- 
ment they would be surrounded and cut to pieces. 
TIic Crisis* 

Lee glanced over his shoulder. He saw his. 
danger at a glance ; they were now riding up the 
hill, the advance company of the enemy were in 
his rear, the main division were some hundred 
yards behind. In a moment the quick word of 
command rung from his lips, and at the instant* 
as the whole corps attained the summit of the hill, 
his men wheeled suddenly round, faced the pur- 
suing enemy, and came thundering upon their 
ranks like an earlh-riven thunderbolt! 

Another moment! and the discomfitted Hano- 
verians lay scattered and bleeding along the road- 
side; here a steed was thrown back upon hia 
haunches, crushing its rider as it fell ; here was a 
trooper clinging with the grasp of death to his 
horse's neck ; yonder reared another horse with- 
out its rider, and the ground was littered with the 
overthrown and wounded troopers. 
The Cliarge. 

They swept over the black-coated troopers like 
a thunderbolt, and in another instant the gallant 
Rangers wheeled about, returning in their charge 
of terror with the fleetness of the wind, each man 
sabreing an enemy as he rode, and then, with a wild 
hurrah, they regained the summit of the hill. 

Lee drew his trooper's cap from his head, his 
men did the same, and then, with their eyes fixed 
upon the main body of the enemy advancing along 
the foot of the hill, the gallant Rangers sent up a 
wild hurrah of triumph, waving their caps above 
their heads, and brandishing their swords. 

The enemy returned a yell of execration, but 
ere they reached the summit of the hill, Lee's 
company were some hundred yards ahead, and all 
pursuit was vain. The Rangers rode fearlessly 
forward, and, ere an half-hour was passed, regain- 
ed the columns of the retreating army. 

Sunset «poii tlic Battlc"fael<l« 

It was sunset upon the field of battle — solemn 
and quiet sunset. The rich, golden light fell over 
tiic grassy luwn, over the vcnernbie fabric of 
Chew's house, and over the trees scattered along 
the field, turning their autumnal foliage to quiver- 
ing gold. 

The scene was fidl of liic spirit of desolation, 
Klccped in deatli, and crimsoned in hlood. The 



THE BATTLE DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 



29 



green lawn — with the soil turned up by the can- 
non wheels, by the tramp of war steeds, by the 
rush of the focmcn — was all heaped with ghastly 
piles of dead, whose cold upturned faces shone 
with a terrible lustre in the last beams of the de- 
dining sun. 

There were senseless carcasses, with the arms 
rent from the shattered body, with the eyes scoop- 
ed from the hollow sockets, with foreheads sever- 
ed by the sword thrust, with hair dabbled in blood, 
with sunken juws fallen on the gory chest; there 
was all the horror, all the bloodshed, all the butch- 
ery of war, without a single gleam of its romance 
or chivalry. 

Here a plaid-kilted Highlander, a dark-coated 
Hanoverian, were huddled to^jethcr in the ghast- 
liness of sudden death ; each with that fearful red 
wound denting the forehead, each with that same 
repulsive expression of convulsive pain, while their 
unclosed eyes, cold, dead, and lustreless, glared on 
the blue heavens with the glare of death. 

Yonder, at the foot of a giant elm, a continental, 
strong armed and stout, sunk down in the grasp 
of death. His head is sunken on his breast, his 
white hair all blood-bedabblcd, his blue hunting 
shirt is spotted with clotted drops of purple. The 
sunburnt hand extended, grasps the unfailing rifle 
— the old warrior is merry even in death, for his 
lip wears a cold and unmoving smile. 
Silence and Dcatli. 

A little farther on a peasant boy bites the sod, 
with his sunburnt face half buried in the blood- 
soddencd earth, his rustic attire of linsey tinted by 
the last beams of the declining sun ; one arm con- 
vulsively gathered under his head, the long brown 
hair all stiffened with blood, while the other grasps 
the well-used fowling piece, with which he rushed 
to the field, fought bravely, and died like a hero. 
The fowling piece is with him in death ; the fowl- 
ing piece — companion of many a boyish ramble 
beside the Wissahikon, many a hunting excur- 
sion on the wild and dreamy hills that frown 
around that rivulet — is now beside him, but the 
hand that encloses its slock, is colder than the iron 
of its rusted tube. 

Let us hie over the field, with a soft'and solemn 
footstep, for our path is yet stamped with the re- 
cent footsteps of death, and the ghosts of the he- 
roes are thronging in the invisible air of the fight. 

Chew's house is silent and still. The shattered 
windows, the broken hall door, the splintered roof, ; 
the battered chimneys, and the walls of the house 



stained- with blood : all are silent, yet terrible 
proofs of the havoc and ruin of the fight. 

Silence is within Chew's house. No death- 
shriek, no groan of agony, no voice shrieking to 
the uplifted sword to spare and pity, breaks upon 
the air. All is still and solemn, and the eye of 
human vision may not pierce the gloom of the un- 
known, and behold the ghosts of the slain crowd- 
ing before the throne of God. 

The sun is setting over Chew's lawn and house, 
the soldiers of the British army have deserted the 
place, and as the last beams of day quiver over the 
field, death — terrible and fearful death — broods 
over the scene, in all its ghastliness and horror. 

Tlie Licgcntl of General Agne^v again* 

Along the solitary streets of Germantown, as 
the sun went down, rang the echo of horses' hoofs, 
and the form of the rider of a gallant war steed 
was seen, disclosed in the last beams of the dying 
day, as he took his way along the village road. 

The horseman was tall, well-formed, and mus- 
cular in proportion ; his hair was slightly touched 
with the frost of age, and his eye was wild and 
wandering in its glance. The compressed lip, 
the hollow cheek, the flashing eye, all told a story 
of powerful, through suppressed emotion, stirring 
the warrior's heart to bitter thoughts and gloomy 
memories. 

It was General Agnew, of the British army : he 
had fought bravely in the fight of Chew's house, 
though the presentiment sat heavy on his soul; he 
had fought bravely, escaped without a wound, and 
now was riding alone, along the solitary ylreet, 
toward the Mccnist grave-yard. 

There was an expression on his commanding 
face that it would have chilled your heart to see- 
It was an expression which stamped his features 
with a look of doom and fate, which revealed the 
inward throbbings of his soul, as the dark pre- 
sentiment of the morning moved over its shadowy 
depths. 

He may have been thinking of his home, away 
in the fair valleys ot England — of the blooming 
daughter, the bright-eyed boy, or the matronly 
wife; and then a thought of the terrible wrong in- 
volved in the British cause may have crossed his 
soul, for the carnage of Chew's lawn had been 
most fearful, and it is not well to slay hundreds of 
living beings like ourselves, for the shadow of a 
right. 

Tlic Tjast Look at tUc Setting Sun- 

He reached the point where the road sweeps 



30 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF CERMAlVTOVVrf . 



down the hill, in front of the grave-yard, and as 
he rode slowly down the ascent, liis attention was 
arrested by a singular spectacle. 

The head of a man, grey-bearded and grey- 
haired, was thrust above the grave-yard wall, and 
a fierce, malignant eye met the gaze of General 
Agncw. It was the strange old man who, in the 
morning, had asked whether " that was General 
Grey ?" pointing to the person of Agnew as he 
spoke, and being answered, by mistake or design, 
in the affirmative, fired a rifle at the officer from 
the shelter of the wall. 

No sooner had the wild face rose above the wall 
than it suddenly disappeared, and, scarce noting 
the circumstance, the General reined his steed for 
a moment, on the descent of the hill, and gazed 
toward the western sky, where the setting sun was 
sinking behind a rainbow-hued pile of clouds, all 
brilliant with a thousand contrasted lights. 

The last beams of the sun trembled over the 
high forehead of General Agnew, as, with his back 
turned to the grave-yard wall, he gazed upon the 



prospect, and his eye lit up with a sudden brillian- 
cy, when the quick and piercing report of a rifle 
broke on the air, and echoed around the scene. 

A small cloud of light blue smoke wound upward 
xrom the grave-yard wall, a ghastly smile over- 
spread the face of Agnew, he looked wildly round 
for a single instant, and then fell heavily ts the 
dust of the road-side — a lifeless corse. 

His gallant steed of ebon darkness of skin, low- 
ered his proud crest, and thrust his nostrils in his 
master's face, his large eyes dilating, as he snuffed 
the scent of blood upon the air; and at the very 
instant, that same wild and ghastly face was 
thrust above the stones of the grave-yard wall, and 
a shriek of triumph, wilder and ghastlier than the 
face, arose shrieking above the graves. 

That rifle shot, pealing from the grave-yard 
wall, was the last shot of the battle-day of Ger-. 
mantown ; and that corse flung along the road- 
side, with those cold eyes glaring on the blue sun- 
set sky, with the death-wound near the heart, was 
the LAST DEAD MAN of that day of horror. 



THE FUNERAL OF THE D^E A D . 

■' Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord, for they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them.' ' 



An Ancient Cliurcli. 

In the township of Towamensing, some twenty- 
six miles from Philadelphia, from the green sward 
of a quiet grave-yard, arises the venerable walls of 
an aricicnt church, under whose peaceful roof wor- 
ship the believers in the Menonist faith, as their 
fathers worshipped before them. 

The graveyard, with its mounds of green sod, 
is encircled by a massive wall of stone, oversha- 
dowed by a grove of primitive oaks, whose giant 
trunks and giiarlcd branches, as they tower in the 
blue summer sky, seetn to share in the sacred 
stillness and ancient grandeur which rests like a 
holy spell upon the temple and the hamlet of the 
dead. 

Come back with me, reader, once more come 
back to the ancient revolutionary time. Come 
back to the solemnity and ginom of the funeral of 
the dead; and in the quiet grave-yard we will be- 
hold the scene. 
j^""^ Tlie Coffins 'beside tlic Grave. 

Bands of armed men throng the place of graves; 
on every side you bolH^lti figures of stout men* 



clad in the uniform of war ; on every side you be- 
hold stern and scarred visages, and all along the 
green sward, with its encircling grove ot oaks, 
the pomp of banners wave flauntingly in the even- 
ing air, but no glittering bayonet gleams in the 
light of the declining day. The banners arc 
heavy with folds of crape, the bayonets are unfix- 
ed from each musquet, and every soldier carries 
his arms reversed. 

Near the centre ot the ground, hard by the road- 
side, are dug four graves, the upturned earth form- 
ing a mound beside each grave, and the sunbeams 
shine upon four coffins, hewn out of rough pine 
wood, and laid upon trussels, with the faces of the 
dead cold and colorless, tinted with a ghastly 
gleam of the golden sunlight. 

Around the graves are grouped the chieftains 
of the American armj^ each manly brow uncov- 
ered, each manly arm wearing the solemn scarf 
©f crape, while an expression of deep and over- 
whelming grief is stamped upon the lines of each 
expressive face. 

Washington stands near the cofllnR : his eyes 



TIIK BATTLE-DAY OF GERMAN TOWN. 



31 



are downcast, and his lip is compressed. Wayne 
is by his side, his bkifT countenance marked by 
unfeigned sorrow ; and there stands Greene and 
Sullivan, and Maxwell and Armstrong, clustered 
in the same group with Stirling and Forman, with 
Smallwood and Knox. Standing near the coffin's 
head, a tall and imposing form, clad in a white- 
hued uniform, is disclosed in the full light of the 
sunbeams. The face, with the whiskered lip and 
the eagle eye, wears the same expression of sor- 
row that you behold on the faces of all around. It 
is the Count Pulaski. 

These are the pall-bearers of the dead. 

A.nd in the rear of this imposing group sweep 
the columns of the American army, each officer 
with his sword reversed, each musquet also re- 
versed, while all around is silent and still. 
Tlie Dead of Gcrmaiitown. 

A grey-haired man, tall and imposing in stature 
advances from the group of pall-bearers. He is 
clad in tlie robes of the minister of heaven, his face 
is marked by lines of care and thought, and his 
calm eye is expressive of a mind at peace with 
God and man. fie stands disclosed in the full 
glow of the sunbeams, and while his long grey 
hairs wave in the evening air, he gazes upon the 
faces of the dead. 

Tlie first corse, resting in the pine coffin, with 
the banner of blue and stars sweeping over its 
rough surface, and bearing upon its folds the 
sword and chapeau of a general officer, is the 
corse of General Nash. The noble features are 
white as marble, the eyes are closed, and the lip 
wears the smile of death. 

The next corse, with the sword and chapeau of 
the commanding officer of a regiment, is the corse 
of the brave Colonel Boyd. 

Then comes the corse of Major White, hand- 
some and dignified even in death. The finely 
chisseled features, the arched brows, the Roman 
nose, and compressed lip, look like the marble of 
a statue. 

The last corse, the corse of a young man, with 
a lieutenants sword and cap placed on the coffin, 
is the last remains of the gallant Virginian, who 
bore the flag of truce to Chew's house, and was 
shot down in the act. Lieutenant Smith rests 
in death, and the blood-slained flag of truce is 
placed over his heart. 

The venerable rainieler advances, he gazes upon 
the faces ot the do id, his clear and solemn voice 
briakb out in toiici of iujpuobiuucd tloijucnco in thij. 



PUNERAL SERMON OVER THE DEAD. * 

General Nashj Colonel Boyd, Major White, 
and liicutciiaiit Sniitli: liiii'lcd in To^va> 
mensins^ Mennonist Graveyard, tlie day 
aftci- tlic Battle of GermautoAvu. 

" Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord, 

FOR they rest from THEIR LABORS, AND THEIR 
WORKS DO FOLLOW THEM." 

Soldiers and Countrymen : — Our brethren lay 
before us in all the solemnity of death. Their 
eyes are closed, their lips are voiceless ; life, with 
its hurry and turmoil, its hopes and its fears, with 
them is over forever. They have passed from 
among us, amid the smoke and glare of battle they 
passed away ; aud now, in this solemn grove , 
amid the silence and quiet of the evening hour, 
we have assembled to celebrate their funeral obse- 
quies. 

Brethren, look well upon the corses of the dead, 
mark the eyes hollowed by decay, the cheeks 
sunken, and the lips livid with the touch of death; 
look upon these forms, but one short day ago 
moving and throbbing with the warm blood of 
life, and now cold, clammy, dead, senseless remains 
of clay. 

But this is not all, brethren; for as we look 
upon these corse?, the solemn words of the book 
break on our ear, through the silence of the even- 
ing air : 

* Note. The author deems it necessary to state, 
once for all, that all the legends given in this 
chronicle, are derived from substantial fact or oral 
tradition. The legend of the D(^bauch of Death 
— the old Quaker — the House on ihe Wis>ahikon 
-—the escape of Washiiigtor) — the pret^e.itiment 
and death of General Agnew — the ftal of Captain 
Lee — as well as all other incidents are derived 
from oral tradition. In other points, the history 
of the Battle is followed as laid down by Marshall 
arid his contemporaries. To the accomplished 
scholar and antiquary, John F. Watson, Esq., of 
Germantown, the author acknowledges himself 
indebted for various interesting traditions and, 
incidents of the time, gleaned from the forthcoming 
second edition of his celebrated Annals. The en- 
gravings accompanying this chronicle, are copied 
by permission from the two elegant engravings 
illustrating the new edition of Watson's Annals. 
This work will create a great sensation. There 
is some doubt concerning the name of the preacher 
who delivered the funeral sermon. But with re- 
gard to the funeral ceremonies at the Mennonist 
church at Toyamensing, there can bo no doubt. 
General Nash and his companions in death were 
buried with the honors of war, in presence of the 
whole army the day after the battle. 



32 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 



Blessed arc the dead that die in the Lord, for 
they rest from their labors, and their ivorks do 
follow them. 

For they did die in the Lord, my brethren. 
Fighting in the holiest cause, fighting against 
wrong, and might, and violence, the brave Nash 
rode into the ranks of battle, and while the bullets 
of the hirelings whistled around him, while all 
was terror and gloom, he fell at the head of his 
men, bravely flashing his sword for his father- 
land. 

So fell White, and so fill Boyd ; you have all 
heard how Lieutenant Smith met his death. You 
have heard how he went forth on the battle morn 
with the flag of truce in his hand. You have 
heard how he approached the fatal mansion on the 
battle-field ; you have heard how these merciless 
men pointed their musquets at his heart, and he 
foil, bathing the flag of truce with the warm blood 
of his heart. 

They fell, but their blood shall not fall unheed- 
ed, George of Brunswick may augur success to 
his cause from the result of this fight, but the 
weak and mistaken man shall soon know his de- 
lusion false. 

From every drop of patriot blood sinking in 
the sod of Gorrnant >wn, a hero shall arise ! From 
the darkne-s and death of that terrible fight, I see 
the angel of our country's freedom springing into 
birth; beyond iho i-Iouds and smoke of battle, I 
bchcll the dawning of a brighter and more glo- 
rious (lay. 

They le^t from their labors. From the toil- 
some labor of ili!! night march, from the fierce la- 
bor of the baltb^ cbarj^e, from the labor of l)lood- 
shed and death I hey rest. 

They will no nroro share the stern joy of the 
meeting of congregated armies ; no more ride the 
steed to battle ; no more feel their hearts throb at 
the sound of the trumpet. All is over. 

They rest from their labors ! Aye, in the sol- 
emn courts of heaven they rest from their labors, 
and the immortal great of the past greet them 
with smiles and beckonings of joy, their hearts 
are soothed by the hymnings of angels, and the 
voice of the Eternal bids them welcome. 
From the dead let me turn to the living. 
Let me speak for a moment to the men of the 
gallant band ; let me tell them that God will fight 
for them ; that though the battle may be fierce 



and bloody, still the sword of the Unknown will 
glisten on the side of the freemen-brothers ; that 
though the battle clouds may roll their shadows 
of gloom over heaps of dying and dead, yet from 
those very clouds will spring the day of Freedom, 
from the very carnage of the battle-field will bloom 
the fruits of a peaceful land. 

Man, chosen among men, as the leader of free- 
men, I speak to thee ! And as the prophets of 
old, standing on the ramparts of Israel, raised their 
hands, and blessed the Hebrew chieftains as they 
went forth to battle, so now I bless thee, and bless 
thy doings; by the graves of the slain, and by 
the corses of the patriot dead, I sanctify thy arms, 
in the name of that God who never yet beheld 
fearful wrong without sudden vengeance — in the 
name of that Redeemer whose mission was ji»y to 
the captive, freedom to the slave, I bless thee, — 
Washington. 

On, on — in thy career of glory ! 

Not the glory of bloodshed, not the halo that is 
born of the phosphorescent light hovering around 
the carcasses of the dead, not the empty fame o 
human slaughter. No — no. 

The glory of a pure soul, actuated by one mo- 
tive of good, straining every purpose of heart to 
accomplish that motive; neither heeding the 
threats of the merciless tyrant, on the one hand, 
or the calls of ambition on the other, but speeding 
forward, with sure and steady steps, to the goal 
of all thy hopes — the freedom of this land of the 
new world. 

Such is thy glory, Washington. 

On, then, ye gallant men, on, in your career 
of glory. To day all may be d;irk, all mny be 
sad, all may be steeped in gloom. You may be 
driven from one batlle-field, you may behold your 
comrades fall wounded and dying in the path of 
your retreat. Carnage may thin your ranks, de- 
cease walk through your tents, death track your 
footsteps. 

But the bright day will come at last. The trea- 
sure of blood will find its recompense, the courage, 
the self-denial and daring of this time will work 
out the certain rewaid of the country's freedom. 

Then behold the fruits of your labours, 

A land of mighty rivers, colossal mountains, a 

land of luxurious vallies, fertile plains, a laud of 

frceuiun, peopled by happy multitudoo of uiillions 

who&e temples echo withhosaunas to God, whose 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 



33 



praises repeat your names, gallant survivors of 
the battle field of Germantown. 

«' Their Works do foUovr them." 

Yes — yes. From the Eternal world, our de- 
paited friends shall look down upon the fruit of 
their works. From the Vast Unseen they shall 
look down upon your banner of blue as the sun- 
Sleam of victory glitters on its stars. They shall 
behold the skeletons of the invader strewing our 
shores, his banners trailed in the dust, his armies 
annihilated, his strong men overthrown, and the 
temple of his power, toppled from its strong foun- 
dations. 

They rest from their labours. 

Oh, glorious is their resting place, oh, most 
glorious is their home ! As they flee on spirit- 
wings to their eternal abode, the ghosts of the 
mighty-dead, come crowding to the poitals of the 
Unknown, and hail them welcome home! Bru- 
tus of old is there, shaking his gory dagger 
aloft, Hampden and Sidney are there, and there 
are the patriot martyrs from all the scaffolds of 
oppressed Europe, each mighty spirit sounding a 
welcome to the martyrs of New World freedom. 

The dead of Bunker Hill are there, the form of 
Warren is among the first in the mighty crowd, 
and there, raising their gory hands on high, a 
band of the martyred men of Brandy wine, press 
forward, and hail their compeers of Germantown 
a welcome home. 

Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord. 

Oh ! thrice blessed, oh ! blessed on the tongues 
of nations, blessed in the hymns of little children, 
blessed in the tears of woman, shed for their mar- 
tyrdom ; blessed in the world beyond, forever and 
forever blessed. 

Farewell to ye, mighty dead, on earth ! The 
kind hands of wife or child were not passed over 
your brows, when the big drops of the death-dew 
announced the approach of the last enemy of man ! 
No blooming child, no soft-voiced wife, no fair- 
haired boy was near ye. 

Alone ye died. Alone amid the ranks of battle,. 
or ere the battle shout had yet ceased to echo on 
your ear. Alone, with fever in your brain, with 
fever in your hearts, with maddening throes of 
pain, forcing from your manly lips the involuntary 
cry of pain, yet, with your native land uppermost 
ki your thoughts, ye died. 

And now, brethren, the sun sinking in the 
west, warns me to close. The bright golden beams 



tint the tops of the tiees, and fiing a shower ot 
light over the roof of the ancient church. The 
sky above arches calm and azure, as though the 
spirits of the dead smiled from yon clime upon 
our solemn ceremonies. The hour is still and 
solemn, and all nature invites us to the offering of 
prayer. Let us pray. 

Prayer for tlie Dead. 
Father in Heaven, we bow before thee, under 
the temple of the clear blue sky and within the 
shadow of yon oaken grove, we bow beside the 
corses of the dead. Our hearts are sad, our 
souls are awed. Up to thy throne we send our 
earnest prayers for this, our much-afflicted land. 
Turn, oh! God, turn the burning sword from be- 
tween us and the sun of thy countenance. Lift 
the shadow of death from our land. And, as in 
the olden times, thou didst save the oppressed, 
even when the blood-stained grasp of wrong was 
at their throats, so save thou us, now — oh, most 
merciful God ! 

And if the voice of prayer is ever heard in thy 
courts, for the spirits of the dead, then let our 
voices now plead with thee, for the ghosts of the 
slain, as they crowd around the portals of the Un- 
seen world. 

Oh ! Lord God, look into our hearts, and there 
behold every pulse throbbing, every vein filling 
with one desire, which we now send up to thee, 
with hands and soul upraised — the desire of free- 
dom for this fair land. 

Give us success in this our m/;st holy cause. 
In the name of the martyred dead of the past, in 
the name of that shadowy band, whose life-blood 
dyes a thousand scaffolds, give us freedom. 

In the name of Jesas give us peacel Make 
strong the hands of thy servant even George 
Washington. Make strong the hearts of his coun- 
sellors, stir^ them up to greater deeds even than 
the deeds they have already done, let thy presence 
be with our host, a pillar of cloud by day and a 
pillar of fire by night. 

And at last, when our calling shall have been 
fulfilled, when we have done and suffered thy will 
here below, receive us into the Rest of the Blessed. 
So shall it be said of us — 

''Blessed are the dead that die iu the Lord, 
for they rest from tiielr lahjrs, and their 
works do fellow them!'' 

The last words of the preacher, sank into the 
hearts of his hearers. Every man felt awed, every 
Boui wa» thrilled. 



u 



THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 



The preacher made a sign to the group of war- 
worn soldiers in attendance at the head of the 
graves. The coffins were lowered in their re- 
ceptacles of death. The man of God advanced, 
and took a handful! of earth, from one of the up- 
rising mounds. 

There was universal silence around the graves, 
and thro' the grave-yard. 

'"Earth to earthy ashes to ashes^ dust to dust. " 

The sound ofthe earth rattling on the coffin of 
General Nash, broke with a strange echo on the 
air. 

Slowly along the sod, passed the minister of 
heaven speaking the solemn words ofthe last cer- 
emony, as he flung the handful of earth upon each 
coffin. 

A single moment passed, and a file of soldiers, 
with upraised musquets, extended along the graves. 
The word of command rang out upon the air, and 
the shot after shot, the alternating reports of the 
musquets, broke like thunder over the graves of 
the laurelled dead. 

The soldiers suddenly swept aside, and in a 
moment, a glittering cannon was wheeled near 
the graves, with the cannonier standing with the 
lighted linstock, by its side. The subdued word of 
command again was heard, the earthquake thun- 
der of the cannon shook the graveyard, and iikea 
pall for the mighty dead, the thick folds of smoke, 
waved heavily above the grave. 

Again did the file of musquetry pour forth iha 
file, again did the cannons send forth their flame, 
■flashing down into the very graves of the dead, 
>8vhile the old church walls gave back the echo. — 



Again was the ceremony repeated, and as the thick 
folds of cannon-smoke waved overhead, the soldiers 
opened to the right and left, and the pall-bearers 
of the dead advanced. 

They advanced, and one by one looked into the 
graves of the slain. 

This was the scene when Washington looked 
for the last time into the grave of Nash and bis 
death-mates. 

The sun setting behind the grove of oaks threw 
a veil of sunshine over the masses of armed men 
thronging the grave-yard, over the reversed arms, 
and craped banner of blue and stars. The form 
of Washington, standing at the head ofthe grave, 
was disclosed in all its majesty of proportion, his 
face impressed with an expression of sorrow, and 
his right hand reversing his craped sword; Wayne 
—the gallant, the noble, the fearless Wayne — 
stood at his right shoulder, and then sweeping in 
a line along the graves, extended the chieftains of 
the army, each face stamped with grief, each 
right arm holding the reversed sword : there was 
the sagacious face of Greene, the bluff visage of 
Knox, the commanding features of Sullivan, the 
manly countenances of Maxwell, Stirling, Forman, 
Conway, and the other officers of the continental 
host. All were grouped there beside the graves 
of the slain, and as every eye was fixed upon the 
coffins sprinkled with earth, a low, solemn peal of 
music floated along the air, and a veteran advanc- 
ing to the grave, flung to the wind the broad ban- 
ner of blue and stars, and the last glimpse of sun» 
light fell upon this solemn relic of the 



iljittie%19a3 Of (iSfetrmantolnn. 



THE END. 



fi. 



fhSZ 



3477-291 



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